


Road Strip

by MissLouisa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Casual Sex, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, alternate universe - strippers, magic mike au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLouisa/pseuds/MissLouisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott, Stiles, and Derek are on a road trip across the country to a stripping convention. Along the way, things get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched the trailer for Magic Mike XXL and I LOVED IT. 
> 
> So I wrote a fanfic about it. Obviously. This... doesn't really follow the plot of magic mike XXL though, partly because I was around 10,000 words in by the time I saw the movie and partly because this is much, much gayer. Also! Because of the encouragement of a friendly group of people who I will not name and shame but they know who they are. 
> 
> Seriously. So gay. Also, this has background Cora/Lydia because I literally can't help myself. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: There are explicit sex scenes in this. There is also alcohol involved, though the character who is drunk actively consents and would consent if he were sober.

"This blows," Scott says, rifling through the magazines. None of them look interesting, and besides, he gets carsick when he reads on the road.

"You owe me ten bucks for gas," Derek says, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'm giving you five minutes."

Scott pulls a face at Stiles, who snorts back at him. "I gotta take a leak," Stiles says.

"See you back in the van," Scott says. He passes Cora and Lydia on his way out and climbs into the back of the van.

Derek's hands are fixed at ten and two on the wheel, staring forward. They'll be waiting at least ten minutes for the others, Scott knows from experience. Stiles has no sense of time and Cora and Lydia always get distracted debating what snacks to bring.

"How long til we stop for the night?" Scott asks.

Derek frowns. "Three hours, probably. There's a town we can probably find a motel in."

"Sweet," Scott says, stretching out his legs across the seats. "Who gets control of the music?"

"Not Stiles," Derek says immediately.

Scott rolls his eyes. "You're going to have to let him eventually," he tells Derek.

Derek shrugs.

The two of them sit in silence, the sun beating down on the van, until the door swings open again and Stiles climbs in, his legs too long for his frame. He brushes Scott's legs off the seat with a swipe of his hand and then sits down heavily.

He grins at Scott, and holds out a strawberry lace. Scott takes it, and grins at him.

Derek makes a disgusted noise as Stiles opens his mouth to reveal half-chewed food. Scott can't help but laugh.

"You two are children," Lydia says, climbing in the van and sitting behind Stiles. Cora gets in the front, beside Derek, and starts rifling through CDs. The van's old, borrowed from Isaac, who apparently doesn't like leaving the state. Danny said he was flying and would meet them there, though Scott has his suspicions that's just because he doesn't like being in the same space as Stiles for extended periods.

"You love us," Stiles tells her, and she wrinkles her nose.

Cora leans over the back of the seat to glare at all of them as she roots around for the map book. Derek and Cora both refuse to rely on the GPS on mobile phones for the trip, insisting that it's not a proper road trip without getting at least a little bit lost. The back of the van is hot, cramped and uncomfortable, and as Derek pulls away they roll down the windows and settle in for another three hours. It's only the first day of the trip and Scott has a feeling the close quarters are starting to wear on people already. Derek, at least, gets his own bedroom at every motel. Scott and Stiles will be sharing a twin room like they haven't done since... actually, since about two years ago. They've always been close friends and their parents have holidayed together, so it's not like this is anything different.

Scott had been hoping maybe this trip would help them break down Derek's walls, but then Cora had asked to come along so Derek didn't self destruct, which doesn't exactly bode well. Derek doesn’t like to socialize with them outside of work, and apart from apparent dangerous habits he’s heard about, neither of them know much about him.

Derek isn't like Stiles, who Scott knows like the back of his hand.

Derek pulls out onto the road and Stiles leans into Scott, a sharp elbow flying toward him.

"I hope that doesn't bruise," Lydia says coolly, flicking through her magazine.

Scott has no idea why Lydia is here. She keeps making sarcastic comments and being generally unhelpful. They haven’t been friends in a while, not close enough in high school to keep in touch after graduation. Even Stiles' huge crush on her faded away years ago, leaving a lingering admiration and a little bitterness at being ignored.

"Scott doesn't bruise easily," Stiles says. "Do you think these seats recline?"

"Doubt it," Cora calls from the front, her face intent on the map book. Derek's face is stiff and composed. Scott wonders if he's ever going to speak.

Stiles starts feeling around under the seats, looking for a lever or something to pull to make the seat go backwards. He doesn't seem to find anything, and when his head comes up his hair is impressively mussed.

"You have sex hair, dude," Scott says, grinning at him.

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. It does nothing to lessen the affect.

"Think it's a look that works for me?" Stiles asks, posing.

Scott snorts. "We'll consider it," he says.

Lydia rolls her eyes and puts her headphones in, listening to something that Scott can't quite make out. Cora's CD choice finally starts playing and Stiles gets out a deck of cards and starts shuffling.

"Go fish?" he asks Scott.

Scott shrugs. "Sure," he says. He glances out the window, watching the scenery melt by.

Stiles deals and they play quietly. Cora and Derek are making conversation up front, but Scott isn't particularly interested so he doesn't try to make out the words. They're good at talking in low, indecipherable voices, anyway.

It makes Scott wonder where they picked up that habit.

Stiles wins the game of go fish and is unbearably smug about it, just like he always is. It makes Scott smile, anyway. He stares out the window as Stiles fidgets beside him, incapable of sitting still.

"Are we going to get any practise in before we get there?" Stiles asks eventually.

Lydia takes off her headphones to stare at him. "Where do you think you'll practice?"

Stiles waves a hand at her dismissively - always a dangerous move, with Lydia - "You're not a part of this conversation," he says.

Lydia raises her eyebrows and put her headphones back on pointedly.

"She's right, though," Derek says. "We're staying in motel rooms. Not a lot of space."

"The routine is fine," Scott says easily. "We're gonna smash it."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Ever the optimist."

"Stiles is right," Derek says. "We should find somewhere to practice."

"Have either of you stayed in a motel recently?" Cora asks, head down and eyes intent on the map. "They're cramped. Really cramped."

"That'll encourage us to be inventive," Stiles says.

"We don't need to be inventive," Derek says. "We need to be polished."

"This isn’t our first year at the convention," Scott says.

Stiles shrugs, putting his feet up on the backs of the seats in front. "It’s a big year for it, though."

"Stiles," Derek says, through gritted teeth.

Cora looks up and glances between the two of them. She reaches out and knocks Stiles’ feet off the back of the seat. "You're making it sound more intense than it is," she tells him. "It's not that big a deal."

"Have you seen the kind of money they bring in?" Stiles asks. "That's a big deal."

"We'll find somewhere," Scott says. "We'll figure it out."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "This is why I should have planned the trip."

"No," Cora and Derek say, in unison.

Scott snorts. "You would have allowed ten days and stopped for every tourist attraction."

"And it would have been awesome," Stiles says.

"We'll go on a bro trip one day," Scott tells him. Stiles turns and his face splits into a wide grin.

"Damn right we will," he says.

"You two are ridiculous," Lydia says, because apparently she's been listening to them the entire time.

Stiles sticks his tongue out at her.

The next hour passes in relative silence and before Scott realizes it, it's started to grow dark and they reach a small town.

"Everybody look for motel signs," Derek says.

"On the right," Cora tells him, pointing, and Derek turns into the parking lot.

It takes a little bit of shuffling to get everyone out of the van and then Derek takes charge again.

"Everyone grab your shit. I'll go get us some rooms."

"Thanks," Scott says, as Stiles goes to open the back and pulls out bags.

"Why do we need to empty it?" he asks, as he heaves one onto the tarmac.

Lydia glances around. "This place doesn't look very well-monitored."

Stiles tips his head at her. "Point," he says, grabbing the second and tugging it out. "What the hell does he have in here?"

"Maybe he's actually prepared for a road trip," Cora says.

Stiles rolls his eyes as Derek returns to the parking lot. The van doors are slammed shut and Derek locks it, and then he gestures.

"Scott and Stiles, you're in room 6. Cora and Lydia, room 8."

"You get your own room?" Stiles says petulantly. "No fair."

"Do you want to share with me?" Derek says flatly.

"He snores," Cora says.

"I don't - Cora," Derek says, frustrated.

A curled smile appears on Stiles' mouth. "Fair enough. Who's hitting the bar?"

"Everyone," Lydia says firmly. "Derek included.”

Derek looks like he might argue, but Lydia shoots him a look. They split off into groups, separating their rooms, and Scott and Stiles go to inspect what kind of hell hole this motel is.

"It has a tv!" Stiles says, opening the door.

"I just want a working shower," Scott says, opening the door to inspect the bathroom.

The shower curtain looks a bit gross, but when Scott tugs it aside and twists the knob for the shower, a surprisingly powerful spray comes out. He grins and allows it to splash over his hands until it grows warm, and then shuts it off.

"Verdict?" Stiles asks, looking up from where he's flicking through the channels.

"I'm happy," Scott says.

He falls backwards onto the bed, looking across at Stiles, sitting cross-legged on the sheet of the twin bed beside him. He's kicked off his shoes on the floor and he's got a hole in one of his socks and he's so much the Stiles that Scott's known since he was seven years old, only with broader shoulders and abs to rival Scott's own.

"You're staring," Stiles says, lips twitching as he turns to look at Scott.

Scott rolls his eyes, willing his cheeks not to go pink. He's been known to check out his best friend on occasion, what of it? Stiles is the one who spent all of their high school years asking if he was attractive to gay guys.

There's a knock on the door then, saving Scott from having to reply. He sits up as Stiles stands and pads over to the door. 

"It's Cora," Stiles tells Scott, looking through the peep hole. He swings the door open and Cora strides in, Lydia in tow.

"Your room has less mold than ours," Lydia says, wrinkling her nose. 

Cora folds her arm across her chest. "We're going to a bar, and I'm not letting Derek pick where because he always picks the worst places."

"You don't want to eat first?" Scott asks.

"We can't afford a meal and booze. Take your pick."

Stiles grins. "This is going to be fun," he says, rubbing his hands together. 

Derek's waiting for them outside and they start walking through the town, trying to spot bars. Cora vetoes the first two Derek points out but when Scott spots one, tucked away behind a pizzeria, she okays it.

Even Lydia, with her notoriously high standards, is happy with the decision, though Scott thinks that might be because she's still trying to impress Cora. 

The bar isn't too crowded but Scott gets the sense that it's early yet, for this place, so he and Lydia make the decision to scout a table while the others order drinks. Scott's not entirely sure he trusts the combination of Cora and Stiles not to come up with something lethal, but Stiles won't take no for an answer.

The seats of the table they eventually find are a little sticky, and so is the table. Both tables either side are occupied and it goes a little quiet as Scott and Lydia approach, but then the noise resumes, almost as loud as before.

"You spend a lot of time in bars?" Scott asks Lydia.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "You better not be hitting on me."

Scott snorts. "I would never, trust me."

"Stiles would be jealous," Lydia says.

"I don't think he likes you that much any more," Scott says, grinning.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "I go to bars I like," she says. "But there aren't many of those in Beacon Hills."

Scott shrugs. "Just your high standards," he says.

Lydia looks like she's about to say something a little mean when Cora interrupts, putting two pint glasses on the table. Stiles follows her carrying a tray with more pint glasses and - of course - shots. 

"Double vodka and coke," Cora says. "One for everyone."

"And the shots?" Scott asks.

Stiles grins. "Tequila," he says.

Scott groans. Derek, too, is carrying a tray, and Scott’s just beginning to question if they need any more drinks when he spots the baskets of fries on the tray.

"We're eating before we do shots," Derek says firmly. Cora rolls her eyes at him but her hand darts out to grab some fries regardless.

Scott sips at his coke, wincing at the sharp taste of the vodka as it hits his throat. Stiles is guzzling his drink a little too eagerly, and cramming fries in his mouth when he comes up for air. Scott pulls a disgusted face at him and Stiles sticks his tongue out, food still visible on it. 

Scott mimes vomiting, dimly aware that Cora, Lydia and Derek are talking about something else as he and Stiles pull increasingly silly faces at each other. 

Before Scott's even really noticed, he's had half of his drink and eaten quite a lot of chips. He's feeling contentedly full, even though he knows it's mostly liquid.

"Shots?" Stiles says, quirking his eyebrows.

Scott grins and Stiles starts passing them out. There are ten shots, so two each, and Scott thinks he might possibly regret this. 

"Salt and lemon," Lydia says, gesturing, and Scott sprinkles a little of the salt in his hand and licks it, slamming the shot in his mouth with his other hand straight after.

He winces, and grabs a slice of lemon as he passes the salt to Cora. Stiles makes a pouty face that he wasn't the next person to get it, and Scott pulls a face back at him around his lemon.

"Seriously," Lydia says. "Disgusting."

She takes the salt from Cora as she does her shot and eventually it makes it's way round to Stiles, then Derek.

"I think we need a break before the second shot," Derek says. "More fries?"

"Nachos!" Stiles says, grinning. 

"Whatever," Lydia says, shrugging. She shifts closer to Cora and the two of them start talking in low voices as Derek makes his way to the bar. 

"We haven't been out drinking in so long," Stiles says.

Scott shrugs. "We've been working."

Stiles smile goes a little tight. "Yeah," he says. "All work and no play, right?"

"Your work is play," Cora says derisively, apparently listening to their conversation.

"It's not play like this is play," Stiles defends.

"We're literally on the way to work for you," Cora says. 

"We're in a bar, drinking and hanging out," Stiles argues.

"Guys," Scott says. "It's just a saying."

Cora rolls her eyes and returns to her conversation with Lydia, and Scott and Stiles manage to have an entire conversation without speaking before Derek returns. It's mostly what's up with Cora? and who the hell knows? but it counts.

Derek dumps two plates of nachos on the table and tells them how much they all owe him, and everyone starts eating again. Apart from Stiles, Scott doesn't usually spend this much downtime with the others, and conversation is stretching a little thin.

"Why are you even here?" Stiles asks Lydia, speaking with his mouthful again.

Lydia glances at Cora. "I'm doing lighting," she says. "And Cora wanted company."

"Why are you here, then?" Stiles says, turning to Cora.

"Moral support," Cora says, shrugging. She puts a nacho in her mouth, apparently unbothered.

"Seriously?" Stiles asks. He looks at Derek and raises his eyebrows, as if waiting for an explanation.

He's not going to get one. Derek's always been reticent about his family and Scott doesn't get the impression he's going to start opening up now.

Derek shrugs. "I didn't invite her. She insisted."

"Your family is weird, dude," Stiles says, and Scott kicks him in the leg, shooting him a glare. They know Derek is weird about his family and that it's probably for a reason and every time Stiles brings it up he gets his head bitten off. That's partly by virtue of being Stiles, though. Scott doesn't know how they've managed to work together for this long, to be honest. 

"You literally don't pick up on any social cues, do you?" Cora says.

Stiles' cheeks go a little pink and Scott can't help at smile at that. He may be a fucking idiot but it's a little endearing. 

"We have to put up with each other for nearly a week," Derek reminds them. "Let's not start fighting on day one."

"We should go to a club," Lydia says. "You can't fight with music that loud."

Derek narrows his eyes. He points his finger at all of them. "No drugs," he says.

"That goes for you too, Der," Cora says. The plate of nachos is nearly finished and Scott's pretty sure he's starting to stick to his seat.

"Next round of shots?" he asks. 

Stiles grins, and passes him the salt, then launches into a long story about tagging along with his dad on a shift. It's one Scott's heard at least twice before,but he settles into it anyway. It makes for good background noise while he licks the salt and tips the shot into his mouth, feeling the tequila burning in his throat.

He takes the lemon and passes Cora the salt, who does the same routine. 

Lydia makes a snide comment and Stiles gets faux offended, the way they did back in high school after they finally started talking to each other. It feels familiar, and comfortable, even though they're in a bar miles away from home with people they're not that familiar with. Scott misses the days when he and Lydia were close, but that was years ago, long before they were old enough to buy shots in bars and talk shit.

Long before he and Stiles found themselves in this particular line of work.

Now it's... weird, he guesses. Lydia came back to Beacon Hills instead of going to graduate school - Scott has literally no idea why. He only came back to save up for vet school, and moving in with Stiles was an appealing prospect when he'd finished his undergrad. Stiles had a job opportunity for the two of them and it felt important to stick together. Still does, if Scott’s honest. That’s part of why he’s still here. 

Part of him wonders if Lydia came back for Cora, because the two of them seem to spend a lot of time together and Scott has a feeling that something is going on there. They don't know much - or anything, really - about Cora. She only came back to Beacon Hills after they'd all graduated from high school, though she attended community college for a while, according to Isaac. 

And then there's Derek.

Who knows what Derek's got going on at any given moment. He's almost as stubborn and difficult as Stiles, though infinitely better at keeping his mouth shut. 

Once everyone has done their shot - Derek pulls a particularly fantastic face at the taste which Scott snaps a picture of - they start collecting up their things.

"How do we know that a town this small even has a club?" Stiles asks. 

Scott nudges him with his elbow as they walk out of the club. "Have you met Lydia? She has like... sonar for parties."

Stiles laughs. "Lead the way, Lyds."

Lydia shoots him a look at the nickname but directs them down an alley that leads behind the bar and onto another street.

"I asked the bartender," she says, looking smug. Scott doesn't remember her even having a chance to speak to the bartender, but Lydia's like that. She's got social skills that Scott won't pretend to understand and - sonar for parties.

She's impressive. The super intelligence is only a part of that. Scott has no fucking idea why she's doing lighting for their show. 

There's a queue outside the club, not long and it seems to be moving smoothly, and they join it. Scott palms his back pocket for his wallet, knowing he'll get ID'd. It's always a long intense inspection for him and Stiles, an unpleasant reminder that they still look about fourteen. 

"How much do you reckon the cover is?" Stiles says, wrinkling his nose at the number of bills in his wallet.

"I'll cover you," Scott says easily. 

Stiles blinks at him. "Thanks," he says, bumping shoulders. Derek rolls his eyes at the two of them.

"Of course there aren't any gay clubs in a town this size," Derek murmurs. 

"You're not allowed hickeys this close to the performance anyway," Lydia says smoothly. "And we're not here to hook up."

"You're just doing lighting," Stiles says. "You're not our manager."

"You should have a manager," Lydia says. "I'd offer, but I do have a real job."

Stiles breathes out roughly and Scott puts a hand on his arm to calm him. "Look. It's a night off. Let's just relax and see what happens."

"That's a recipe for disaster," Cora says, but she's smirking.

"Do you guys go out drinking together a lot?" Stiles asks, gesturing between Derek and Cora. Scott tries to subtly step on his foot but Stiles yelps in pain. 

"Derek's a terrible wingman," Cora says coolly. 

Stiles chokes on air.

"Stop goading him, Cora," Derek says.

Cora shrugs. "It's not like it's a lie."

Cora and Derek exchange a secret smile and Stiles makes exaggerated arm gestures that both of them ignore. The queue shuffles forward and they're near the front, now.

"We could practice our routine on the dance floor," Stiles says.

"No," Derek, Cora, and Lydia say in unison.

"You guys are no fun," Stiles says, as they reach the front of the queue and show their IDs to the bouncer. Derek just gets waved on through, which is fair because between the stubble and the fact that he is at least a few years older than them, he doesn't need that check.

Scott and Stiles get scrutinized for a long time, though. At least Isaac isn't here - he would mock them mercilessly for it.

They make it in eventually and Scott pays for Stiles’ entry. Stiles makes a joke about Scott taking him out on a date that hits Scott in the gut a little bit.

"You're buying drinks," he tells Stiles.

Stiles rolls his eyes but heads to the bar. Scott watches a silent conversation between Lydia and Cora that he can't quite interpret, but ends with Lydia tugging Cora by the hand into the mass of bodies that makes up the dancefloor. It's only a few seconds before they've disappeared from view completely, and Scott doubts he'll see them again ‘til the end of the night.

He's seen the way Lydia dances - she's a powerhouse. 

Derek jerks his head toward the bar and the two of them follow Stiles and make small talk as they wait for the bartender to pay attention to them. When she does and makes their drinks, Stiles steps aside so that they can all do a shot.

"You're a bad influence," Scott says. He has to shout it over the music but Stiles hears and grins at him, tipping his head back, and maybe it's the alcohol but something about the pale column of his neck is strangely alluring in the dim lighting of the club.

Stiles passes out drinks and leans toward Scott to yell, "Wanna dance?" in his ear.

Scott grins and nods. He glances at Derek who shrugs and gestures to the bar. Scott has a feeling he might be wanting to hit on the bartender, so he and Stiles leave him to it. The dancefloor is crowded and even once they're further in, there's no sign of Cora and Lydia. 

Scott starts moving to the music, the thud of the bass making his skin vibrate. He tries not to make his moves too lewd, nothing like they'd be at work, but his hips still writhe in a way that the angle of Stiles' eyebrows suggest they approve of.

Stiles steps up close and the two of them move together, in sync. It's a kind of practice, Scott thinks, a kind of preparation for the stage. It's almost improvising, but there's a lot more heat and instinct to it for it to ever be part of performance. 

Stiles has one thigh between his own and the friction between them is magnetizing. Scott hopes - prays, really - that Derek doesn't decide to join them now. Around them there are couples engaged in similar moves, and it's the first time Scott's really thought of them as a couple.

They're not, of course, but right now it feels like they are.

Almost without his bidding his lips find the dip in Stiles' collarbone and press there, softly, as their hips slide together, against each other, moving with a rhythm that can't quite be contained.

He can feel Stiles’ groan in his throat.

Stiles leans in close and Scott can feel his breath on his ear.

"I need some air," Stiles shouts, and then he steps back and Scott misses his warmth immediately. He watches Stiles as far into the crowd as he can, and then he turns and leaves.

He'll find Derek at the bar and wait for Stiles to finish a bummed cigarette, he decides, because he's certain that's what Stiles will have gone to do. 

He tries not to picture Stiles' hand around a cigarette, or his lips, either.

He needs another drink. He throws back the rest of his current one, still half full, and regrets it a little when he realises how strong it was.

"How's your flirting going?" Scott asks Derek.

Derek shrugs. "Don't think she's interested. Where's Stiles?"

"Smoking," Scott says.

He can feel the tips of his ears going red and he wills Derek not to notice. It seems to work, because Derek's eyes slide back over to the bartender he was admiring.

"I might call it a night," Derek says. "Driving tomorrow."

Scott swallows. "Do you mind if we stay?"

Derek shakes his head. "Don't do anything stupid," he says. "I'm gonna find Cora."

Scott raises his eyebrows. "Good luck."

He settles on the bar and can't help but notice that the bartender looks a little disappointed when Derek leaves. She comes over quickly, though, and Scott orders a shot and another mixed drink. 

"Your friend leave?" she asks, as he fumbles through his wallet.

"He's driving tomorrow," he says.

"You're just in town for the one night?"

"Road trip," Scott says. 

"Cool," she says, apparently losing interest as she hands over his change. "Have a good night."

Scott tips the shot back - he went for rum this time, for a bit of variety - and chases it with his drink. It's still strong and he winces a little, but he feels a little better now. It's still too damn hot in the club though, no wonder Stiles wanted some fresh air. 

He's considering going back into the dance floor and seeing if he can find Cora and Lydia when someone knocks into him beside the bar and he catches an elbow to the face, hard. Pain flashes bright behind his eye and he swears.

"Sorry, dude," says the guy. He doesn’t even make eye contact with Scott, and Scott doesn’t get the impression he’s very sorry at all.

Scott finishes his drink - alcohol is a painkiller, he's pretty sure - and heads to the bathroom to inspect the damage. He hopes it won't bruise, Lydia will murder him if she has to work her makeup magic on him before the show.

He runs cold water over his fingers and dampens his face. It relieves the pain a little, but it still hurts. It doesn't look too red, though, which is promising.

The bathroom is surprisingly empty, though typically unclean, and the emptiness is probably the only reason Scott looks up when the door opens. The thud of the music grows louder as Stiles walks through the door and then quiets again as it shuts behind him.

"What happened to you?" Stiles asks.

Scott shrugs. "Someone tripped."

"Asshole," Stiles says, coming closer. 

Now that he's away from the crowd in a quieter room, Scott is suddenly aware of how drunk he is. The room sways a little as Stiles comes close, and his body heat seems oddly intense.

Stiles lifts his hand to gently poke around Scott's cheek and eye. "Does it hurt?"

"Not too bad," Scott says, as soft as he can with the loud music.

Stiles bites his lip and pauses, just for a second, and it's like the whole world stills.

It's just the alcohol, Scott tells himself. It's like he can feel every bit of the space between him and Stiles, and when Stiles presses closer and their lips meet it's something else entirely.

The world starts moving again, entirely too quickly, and the kissing is fierce and hot and rough. Stiles' lips are dry and he tastes like smoke and Scott wants more of it. He presses back against Stiles, chasing the taste of nicotine and tequila. Somehow, they find their way inside a cubicle and Scott splays out an arm to shut the door behind them. Stiles keeps him pressed up against it, mouth opening and the kiss turning even dirtier than it already was.

"Is this okay?" Stiles asks, pulling away as he undoes Scott's belt.

Scott doesn't have words in him. He just nods, mouth still open and gasping for air. Stiles smiles slyly at him, a leer that Scott would have teased him for in any other situation.

Stiles starts kissing down his neck, and Scott's head hits the cubicle door with a thump.

"No hickeys," he says desperately, remembering Lydia's caution from earlier. A black eye and hickeys would be breaking so many of Lydia's rules.

In retaliation, Stiles drags his teeth just slightly over Scott's collarbone. Scott gasps loud, and has to stuff a hand in his mouth when he hears the door swing open and the music of the club grow louder once more.

Stiles shoots him a dirty smirk and drops smoothly to his knees, with a grace Scott's never seen from him before. He tugs at Scott's jeans and Scott has to close his eyes and try to center himself. He's still got one hand over his mouth and the other desperately clinging to the lock on the cubicle door, and there are other people in the bathroom.

He risks looking down and wishes he hadn't. Stiles' eyes are open wide and innocent as he wraps his lips around Scott's cock, his other hand running smoothly up and down the shaft.

Staying quiet has never been harder. Stiles' mouth is heat enveloping his cock and he knows, just knows, that he's not going to last long. 

The hand holding onto the lock of the door strays down to tangle in Stiles' hair. He doesn't pull on it, just rests his hand gently as Stiles' mouth takes in more of his member.

The door swings open again, and then shut, and Scott is confident enough that they're alone that he moves his hand and lets out a loud groan. Everything Stiles is doing with his mouth - with his tongue - feels fantastic. His cheeks are hollow and there’s a pressure on Scott’s dick, a contrast to the firm strokes of Stiles’ tongue. The sound of Stiles' movements are barely audible over the music but Scott's hands are starting to shake with how hot it is.

"Fuck," he gasps out, and Stiles looks up and meets his gaze again. His tongue does something that Scott can only describe as magical and Scott's grip on Stiles' hair tightens just slightly.

Scott's hips buck up as Stiles moves his hand and he gasps out an apology, but he's not really sorry, he doesn't have the thought in him to be sorry.

"I'm not going to last," he says, stumbling over his words. He's not even sure Stiles can hear them over the music. Stiles moves backwards so just the head is in his mouth, and Scott's pretty sure he'll be seeing stars when he comes. Stiles is a fucking magician. 

"Stiles," Scott groans out, and tugs on Stiles' hair. Stiles swallows down inches of his cock in one, making eye contact again, as the first spurt of come escapes from him. His hips jerk one last time and the cubicle door rattles as Stiles begins to swallow.

"Fucking hell," Scott says, spent. Stiles leans back on his heels and wipes his mouth, a smile on his face.

"Yeah," he says, grinning at him. Scott reaches out a hand to help him stand and Stiles takes it. 

Scott quirks his eyebrows at Stiles. "Back to the motel?" 

"In a minute," Stiles says, leaning in close and kissing Scott again. It's softer and less rushed than the first kiss, but Scott can feel the heat of Stiles' body against him, and Stiles' hard cock pressing against his hip. He loses himself in it, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist and feeling Stiles' lips - no longer dry but slick with saliva - pressed against his own.

"I think now," Stiles says, when his hips have started twitching of their own accord.

Scott shoots Stiles a grin. "You have to step back so we can open the door," he says.

"Sure," Stiles says, not moving.

Scott looks at him, meeting his gaze. Stiles' eyes are lidded with lust. Scott presses a kiss to the corner of his lips before moving forward and pushing Stiles backward. Eventually, they manage to get the cubicle door open and they exit to the empty bathroom. Scott takes Stiles' hand and it feels more intimate than anything they’ve done before, the shape of his fingers different to the ones Scott has known all his life. Their sweaty palms stay together as they make their way around the dance floor and out into the cool night air.

They don't speak much on the walk home, though they stop a few times to press each other up against walls. Scott feels like this will be visible to everyone on his face tomorrow, like his lips will be swollen from Stiles kissing the life out of him. 

Stiles fumbles with the key in the lock, and the motel room looks even dingier than earlier in the late evening light. It doesn't matter, though - what's important is that there's a bed, and the two of them tumble onto it, too wrapped up in each other to even turn the light on properly. 

Scott splays out a hand to flick on the bedside light as Stiles leans over him, pressing endless kisses to his neck, none firm or long enough to leave a mark, and Scott uses his other hand to tug on Stiles' shirt long enough to get him to kiss his lips again.

Kissing Stiles is amazing. It's sloppy, they're both drunk, but it's all heat and fire, and it goes straight to his groin. He makes amazing sounds, too, when Scott palms at his cock through his jeans, deep guttural groans that make Scott feel hot all over. Scott jerks his hips deliberately, enjoying the friction between them, and then he pushes at Stiles' right shoulder. It takes a shove or two, but eventually Stiles understands what he's trying to do. Turning over is hard on the tiny twin bed, but soon Scott is on top, Stiles trapped between his thighs, and his hands are shaking as he fumbles with the buttons of Stiles' plaid shirt.

"You're not-" Stiles says, frustrated. He doesn't finish his thought, just yanking Scott down at the collar to meet his lips again. Their teeth clash and their noses bump as Scott overbalances, but he rests a palm on Stiles' chest and regains control.

He can feel Stiles' heartbeat rabbiting beneath the palm of his hand, he realizes, and he takes a moment to wonder at it before Stiles nips at his lips, catching his lower one between his teeth.

They're definitely going to be swollen in the morning.

Scott tries to finish unbuttoning Stiles' shirt, feeling the firm contours of his bare skin beneath him. It's clumsy, and he keeps getting distracted by Stiles' open mouth beneath him. When his hands are finally on the last button he starts kissing down Stiles' neck. He didn't think his lips could be this aware of temperature, but Stiles is all heat, skin damp with sweat and when Scott brushes his lip over the vein in his neck his heart is pounding. 

He keeps moving downward, fumbling with his other hand with Stiles' belt. When his lips brush over Stiles' nipple his hips jerk beneath him, and he loses grasp of the belt, slipping between his fingers.

"Dammit, Stiles," he murmurs.

"Do that again," Stiles challenges, and Scott drops his lips to Stiles' nipple again, grazing his teeth over it just slightly. Stiles gasps, the noise of his pant sounding loud in the otherwise silent room, and Scott grins up at him. He manages to undo Stiles' fly first try, and Stiles' skin is unimaginably soft as he skates his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He finds coarse pubic hair and Stiles cock, firm and thick, and he wraps his fingers around it. He presses his lips softly to Stiles' nipple, looking up at Stiles' face as he stares at the ceiling and groans. 

The line of his jaw is really quite beautiful from this angle, Scott decides, and then he brushes his fingers down Stiles’ cock and Stiles' jerks. 

“Fuck,” Stiles says. Scott’s teeth find Stiles’ nipple again, tugging at it gently, and Stiles lets out a slow breath.

Scott tugs his hand out of Stiles’ pants to lick a wet stripe down it, maintaining eye contact as he does so. He reaches back down and wraps his hand around Stiles’ cock, stroking up and down.

Fuck, he needs some friction. His hips jerk meaninglessly in the air as he runs his fingers along the underside of Stiles’ cock and Scott leans forward to meet his lips again.

“No hickeys,” Stiles reminds him. Scott snorts, resting his head against the pillow, nose pressed into Stiles’ neck.

He tightens his grip just slightly and he can feel the vibrations of Stiles moaning in his throat.

“You,” Stiles says, voice a little hoarse. “You are wearing too many clothes.”

Scott feels hands pushing at his shoulders and he sits up and tugs at his shirt with one hand. It’s clumsy and badly planned and he has to use both hands in the end to pull it off. He throws it on the floor and the room sways a little.

And then it sways a lot.

“Scott?” Stiles says softly. Scott can still feel his hardon pressing against his thigh.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Scott says.

He lurches sideways and just barely manages to land on his feet. The floor seems unsteady as he makes his way to the bathroom and flips up the toilet seat. It only takes a few seconds before bile starts spewing out of his throat, an acrid bitter taste filling his mouth.

“Shit,” he swears, resting his forehead on his bare forearm. 

He barely gets a moments respite before he’s vomiting again. Distantly, he hears footsteps behind him and the light flicks on. He shuts his eyes against the light and waits for the world to stop spinning.

“Scotty,” Stiles says softly.

He cracks open his eyes. Stiles is crouched down, fly still unzipped, shirt still hanging open, offering a glass of water.

Scott could cry. 

“Thanks,” Scott says. His voice is hoarse from being sick, and he winces as he speaks. The glass is cool in his hand and he takes a sip, before pressing it against his cheek. The room is suddenly much too hot and Stiles is much too close.

Scott watches Stiles’ adams apple bob, and then his tongue poke out to lick his lips. “Too much to drink?” he asks softly.

Scott nods, a weak smile on his face. “Sorry,” he says.

Stiles shrugs easily. Scott can’t help but notice how red and swollen Stiles’ lips are, and when his gaze strays further south, so is one of his nipples.

I did that, thinks Scott. He’s not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing. His hands are starting to shake, and he’s not sure if it’s with exhaustion or something else. He puts the glass down on the floor by the toilet.

“Are you okay if I go to sleep?” Stiles asks.

Scott nods. He’s not sure he has the words to communicate with Stiles the things he needs to say. Most of it is apology, he thinks. 

Stiles purses his lips. He looks like he might be working up the courage to say something too, but he shakes his head and rises to his feet. He ruffles Scott’s hair in an affectionate move that doesn’t tilt Scott’s world on its axis at all, and then he turns and pads softly out of the bathroom.

Scott falls asleep there, curled around one side of the toilet, wondering what the morning will bring. He doesn’t even get up to turn out the light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst for being a whole month late on this! Sorry guys!

Scott’s woken by two sharp knocks on the doorframe.

“Gotta take a leak,” Stiles says, when Scott manages to open his eyes.

Scott’s not sure he’s capable of words but he makes a noise that he hopes is agreement and sits up, then stands. He has to hold on to the wall to not fall over, and it’s a blessed relief to find the motel room still dark when he exits the bathroom.

One bed is unrumpled, sheets still tucked in.

He doesn’t know why, but he collapses in the other bed. It smells like Stiles, like sweat and a little like sex. He winces, and when he hears the toilet flush, he shuts his eyes and feigns sleep. 

He hears Stiles sigh softly, then soft footsteps across the cheap carpet. Stiles hovers over him for what seems like forever, and then he gently shakes his shoulder.

Scott opens his eyes, probably too quickly to be believably asleep.

“Feeling okay?” Stiles asks

Scott narrows his eyes. “What do you think?” 

Stiles snorts softly, stroking Scott’s hair. “I forgot how much you suck at hangovers,” he says. 

“What time is it?” Scott asks.

“We’ve got to be on the road in half an hour,” Stiles says. He glances down at Scott and grimaces. “You’re probably gonna want to shower, dude.”

“Thanks,” Scott says. He’s not quite coherent enough to make the word sound as sarcastic as it needs to be. He sits up and Stiles shifts uneasily. Scott doesn’t know if he wants to talk about it or never talk about it ever. Mostly he wants to go back to bed in a dark room. Maybe drink a glass of water and eat some dry toast in a few hours, if he feels up to it. He definitely drank too much.

“I’ll grab you some advil,” Stiles says, as Scott grabs a towel from the other bed and shampoo from his overnight bag. Being upright for long brings back waves of nausea, but Stiles is right, he should shower. He’s still wearing the jeans he wore the club last night, and Scott wouldn’t be surprised if they’re more than a little stained. 

The shower runs hot, at least, and he gets in and shuts his eyes, resting his forehead against the grimy tile. He can’t bring himself to care about the dirt, or much else. Eventually he works up the energy to stand up straight and wash himself, but it’s hard work.

He can’t stop thinking about last night. About the things he and Stiles did. He doesn’t know what to feel about it and every time he shuts his eyes he gets a flash of Stiles’ face, twisted in ecstasy.

He definitely doesn’t know what to feel about that. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Stiles naked before - he’s even walked in on him touching himself, but there’s something very different about being the one to wring those noises out of Stiles.

They’re best friends. They’ve always been best friends. Scott doesn’t know why last night happened, doesn’t know why Stiles initiated or why it got as far as it did, but something in his gut tells him he’s not going to be able to forget it in a hurry.

It takes Stiles banging on the door to tell him he’s only got ten minutes to get his ass in the van to get Scott out of the shower. He still feels nauseous and his head is pounding and he just wants to go back to sleep. Hopefully he’ll sleep on the car, though he thinks if Stiles sits next to him he might be on too on edge.

They need to talk about it, Scott thinks. They need to have a conversation about why what happened happened. 

But not while he’s still in danger of vomiting everywhere.

The others are all waiting by the van by the time the two of them drag their suitcases out to the kerb. They’d only communicated in monosyllables while they’d been getting organized, and Scott had hoped he could pass that off as being hungover but he’s pretty sure Stiles noticed something was up. 

“You look worse for wear,” Lydia says coolly as Scott loads his suitcase in the back of the van.

“He spent the night on the bathroom floor,” Stiles says.

“We looked for you guys when we left,” Cora says. “Did you go somewhere else?”

Scott concentrates on pushing his suitcase to the back of the van.

“We split up for a bit,” Stiles says. “Then came back here on our own.”

Scott turns around just in time to see Lydia narrow her eyes. “No hickeys?” she asks.

“No, Lyds,” Stiles sighs.

Scott thinks he might vomit. He climbs in the back seat anyway, and doesn’t look up when a warm body slumps beside him. He doesn’t want to know who it is.

“Got you a plastic bag,” Stiles says, his voice low. He passes it to Scott, who holds it in front of him. “And we’ve got spares if you need another.”

“Thanks,” Scott says stiffly. The van shakes as the doors slam shut and Scott stares out the window, trying to quell the rising nausea.

Stiles breathes out roughly beside Scott, and Scott shuts his eyes as Derek turns the key in the ignition and gets the van moving.

He doesn’t keep them closed for long, though, because as the van starts to move waves of nausea start rising.

“Let me know if you need me to pull over,” Derek says. His tone is a little clipped but it’s a kind sentiment, and Scott appreciates it. 

“Thanks,” Scott says.

“Next time we’ll get a proper meal,” Derek says.

Scott groans. “Next time?” 

Derek laughs as he pulls out onto the freeway. Conversation dies down a little, Cora focusing on the map and Lydia with her headphones in, but the van seems oddly still. Maybe it’s because Stiles has barely said a word this morning, and he keeps his mouth shut for the whole morning. The silence is a little eerie and Scott’s pounding headache makes the time crawl by.

Eventually, though, Derek speaks. “Stopping for lunch,” he announces. 

“I don’t think I can eat,” Scott says, as Derek pulls up.

Derek shrugs. “You should eat something,” he says. Scott shakes his head, grimacing. 

“I’m just gonna take a walk,” he says, clumsily leaving the van. He makes it around the corner of the building before he has to stop to throw up. It seems like forever that he spends doubled over, tears filling his eyes. When he’s done, he leans against the wall and shuts his eyes. The sun seems especially bright today and every inch of his skin feels too hot, too tight.

Eventually, he slides down the wall and sinks to the ground, head in his hands. He doesn’t want to get back in the van. He doesn’t want to spent more hours sitting beside to Stiles pretending like last night was nothing, not even a blip on his radar. 

Eventually he works up the energy to stand upright and heads inside the building. He just wants a glass of water and maybe some earplugs if he can find some. He’s interrupted by Lydia, though, standing in front of him with her arms folded.

“What’s up with Stiles?” she asks.

“Late night,” Scott says, not looking her in the eye. He opens the cooler and pulls out a bottle of water and steps up to the register to pay.

“Sure,” Lydia says. “Except I’ve seen Stiles sleep deprived and this isn’t that.”

Scott shrugs. “I haven’t been paying much attention, sorry Lyds.”

“He’s barely spoken a word all morning,” Lydia says, keeping pace with him as he walks back outside. “That’s not Stiles.”

Scott unscrews the cap of the water bottle and drinks it, keeping every movement deliberately slow.

“Scott,” Lydia says.

Scott swallows and replaces the cap. “I don’t know what Stiles’ problem is,” he says. Fuck, that’s true on so many levels. 

“So your monstrous hangover has nothing to do with it?” Lydia asks, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened last night,” Scott grinds out. It’s a lie, but Scott’s pretty sure it’s the only thing that will get Lydia to drop it.

She doesn’t look impressed, but she doesn’t press him for answers again so Scott will take that as a win. He finishes his bottle of water and throws it in the bin and then he considers being sick again.

“You know, you’re weird too,” Lydia says. “It’s not just the hangover. Did you guys fight or something?”

“Me and Stiles have never had a fight,” Scott says without thinking about it.

“Seems like you’ve having one right now,” Cora says, holding a hand over her forehead to block out the sun. Derek and Stiles are trailing behind her but they don’t seem to be paying attention to this conversation.

“I’m just tired,” Scott says firmly. He doesn’t look at Stiles. He doesn’t.

“Cora, you want to drive?” Derek asks. 

“You have a license?” Stiles says.

Derek tosses Cora the keys and Cora and Stiles bicker back and forth and it’s almost normal. Maybe Lydia would be reassured by that, but with the intense way she’s looking at him he doubts that’s the case. He slumps in the back seat and Stiles sits beside him and he takes a minute to wonder why. Why Stiles would sit next to him when both of them so clearly feel uncomfortable, why he wouldn’t fight for shotgun like he usually does.

But Derek’s in the front seat with the map book on his lap and as the van gets moving again they all settle into silence.

“Man, hangovers really shut you two up,” Cora says.

“So maybe I shouldn’t have had that last shot of rum,” Scott snaps. 

He sees Cora grimace in the rearview mirror. “I hate rum,” she says. 

“I might never drink it again,” Scott says.

“I still think something happened last night,” Lydia says. “Why won’t you two spill?”

“Because it’s none of your business?” Stiles snaps.

“I knew it,” Lydia says, grinning. “Seriously, what happened?”

Scott groans loudly. He catches an elbow to his ribs as Stiles folds his arms across his chest. He can’t help it, he shoots a glare at Stiles.

“You must have had a fight,” Cora says, meeting Scott’s gaze in the rearview mirror. She changes lanes to overtake and Scott shuts his eyes, the lurch of the van making him feel sick again.

“We didn’t fight,” Stiles says. “We’re just hungover.”

“Sure,” Cora says, sarcastically.

“Drop it,” Derek says firmly. 

Cora snorts. “You’re kidding, right?”

Scott looks up to see Derek’s eyes fixed on the side of Cora’s face. “I’m serious,” he says.

“Alright,” Cora says. “Whatever.”

“Can I bug you some more?” Lydia asks. “Because I’m dying of curiosity over here.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles snaps.

“Got it,” Lydia says, raising her eyebrows. She sticks her headphones back in and the van falls silent again. Scott tries to distract himself by staring vacantly out the window but he can hear the music coming from Lydia’s headphones and it’s jarring. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s starting to think that he really needs to have a conversation with Stiles, a conversation he’ll need to initiate. But they’re stuck in this cramped van for the next four days with no privacy, and he doesn’t think he can sleep beside Stiles tonight. He definitely doesn’t want to drink with Stiles again.

He feels vulnerable. He can’t explain it, but he feels vulnerable. He doesn’t even want to make eye contact with Stiles, not really. He almost wishes he didn’t remember a moment of last night... but that would mean he wouldn’t remember a moment of last night.

And some bits of it were worth remembering, Scott’s willing to admit, for all that it confused their friendship.

Part of him - and not a small part, either - thinks maybe he can’t look at Stiles because he looks at Stiles and he wants. It’s not that he never thought Stiles was attractive before, because Stiles has always had looks, even when he was too scrawny and shaved all of his hair off. It’s that he never felt that craving for Stiles before.

Or maybe even that isn’t true. When Scott thinks back he can remember time and time again when Stiles had been alluring or appealing, but he’d always been distracted.

He guesses, last night, he was un-distracted.

He doesn’t understand why any of it really happened, though. He doesn’t understand that initial press of his lips to Stiles’ collarbone, or their kiss in the bathroom, or the way things escalated from there. He doesn’t understand why he allowed it to happen, why Stiles allowed it to happen. Why either of them did all those things to each other without saying a word, a real word, between them.

Stiles is Scott’s best friend. He doesn’t want that to change. He doesn’t know what’s going on between them, if it’s just two friends letting off some steam or if it’s something more, something bigger that he can’t quite put into words.

He doesn’t know if it perhaps it was just the alcohol and they wouldn’t, couldn’t do it sober. 

He’s drawn out of his brooding by the shuddering of the van, and he looks up to see Cora easing it onto the shoulder.

“We’ve got warnings lights and smoke,” Cora says. “This is not good.”

“Fuck,” Derek says. “How far is the next town?”

Cora shrugs. “You’ve got the map, asshole,” she says, climbing out of the van. The whole thing shakes as she slams the door behind her, and Scott scrambles out. He doesn’t know shit about engines but he doesn’t feel like staying in that particular confined space.

“You think you can fix it, Der?” Cora asks, lifting the hood of the car.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with it yet,” Derek says, frowning. “Lydia?”

“Lydia knows about cars?” Scott asks in surprise.

“I’m full of surprises,” Lydia says. Cora shoots her a smirk and Scott watches a silent exchange that involves Lydia rolling her eyes and Cora blowing a kiss before Stiles tumbles out of the car.

“I’ve fixed up the jeep a bunch of times,” Stiles says. “We can figure this out.”

“Or we call a mechanic,” Scott says. “What if we need parts?”

Derek bites his lip. “I don’t want to throw off the schedule,” he says.

“How far is the nearest town?” Cora presses. “There’ll be a mechanic there.”

Derek goes back to the van to get the map book, flipping through it til he finds the right page. “It’s a couple miles,” he says. “Take an hour-ish to walk.”

“We split up?” Lydia asks.

“This is how horror movies start,” Stiles says.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Derek, Stiles, and I stay here to see if we can figure out what’s going on with the engine. Scott and Cora walk to the town and try to get a tow. We’ll call you if we fix it.”

Scott glances at Cora, who shrugs. 

“I’m taking a bottle of water,” Scott says. 

“Help yourself,” Derek tells him.

A minute later, he and Cora set off after making sure their mobiles are fully charged. They leave the map behind when Scott insists his phone has perfectly good GPS. 

“Want to play i-spy?” Cora asks, after a few minutes of silence. Occasionally a car speeds past them, but they don’t bother to hope for a ride. 

“No,” Scott says flatly.

“I know you told Lydia you don’t remember what happened,” Cora says.

Scott shrugs. 

“I know you’re lying,” Cora says. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Scott says.

“Sure it isn’t,” Cora says flatly.

Scott doesn’t respond, just keeps trudging forward, putting one foot in front of the other.

Cora sighs. “You’re not going to be sick again, are you?”

“I’m not making any promises,” Scott says.

“Gross,” Cora says.

“What about you and Lydia?” Scott asks. “There’s something going on there.”

“I don’t know,” Cora says. “We’re hooking up.”

“Oh,” Scott says. He hadn’t expected Cora to admit it so easily, or to be so casual about it. “You like her?”

“Yeah,” Cora says. “We’re working on it.”

Scott hums, frowning down at the tarmac.

“It’s that easy?” he asks eventually.

“What is?”

“Hooking up. Liking someone. Working on it.”

Cora doesn’t answer for a beat or two. “You hooked up with Stiles?”

“Are you going to make fun of me?”

“I wasn’t going to,” Cora says.

“Thanks,” Scott says quietly.

“I’ve got questions, though,” Cora says.

Scott swallows. “Are you going to tell Lydia?”

Cora looks across at him and meets his eyes. “Not if you don’t want me to,” she says. She’s convincing, Scott will give her that.

“Okay, shoot,” Scott says.

“How far did it go?”

Scott can feel his cheeks growing hit, and Cora shoots him a smirk as he collects himself. “We went home together,” Scott says. “Then I puked.”

“Gross,” Cora says.

“Tell me about it,” Scott says.

“Did you puke on his dick?”

“Dude,” Scott says. “No.”

Cora stifles a giggle. “Alright, I believe you.”

“You’re full of shit,” Scott mutters.

“I had to ask,” Cora says. “You would.”

“You don’t go near anyone’s dick,” Scott points out.

He can almost hear Cora’s eyeroll. “You know exactly what I meant.”

“Sure,” Scott says. “But I wouldn’t ask.”

“Fine,” Cora says. “So what’s the problem?”

“We didn’t... talk about anything. I don’t understand why it happened.”

“You’re having feelings,” Cora says sympathetically.

“For Stiles?” Scott says, immediately. “No way.”

“I meant feelings in general,” Cora says. “But sure, let’s explore this direction.”

“He’s my best friend,” Scott says.

“The whole world knows that.”

Scott pauses. His brain isn’t quite up to speed, still a little foggy with alcohol, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words the way he feels. “Best friends don’t touch each other’s dicks,” he says.

“I’m sure that isn’t universally true,” Cora says.

In the distance, Scott is beginning to see buildings springing up beside the road. There’s only a few of them, but hopefully a mechanic is among them. Otherwise he’ll have to drag out this conversation with Cora even longer.

“We don’t do that,” Scott says. “We’ve been friends for twenty years and we’ve never done that.”

“Never even talked about it?”

Scott frowns. “Not that I can remember.”

“Who initiated?” Cora asks.

“I don’t know,” Scott says. “It just happened.”

Cora makes a contemplative sound and Scott unscrews the cap of his bottle of water, taking a swig.

“That’s a good sign,” Cora says. “It means both of you were into it.”

Scott chokes on his drink.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Cora says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Since when are you a relationship expert, anyway?”

Cora shrugs. “You’re the one who keeps talking.”

“Fine,” Scott says mulishly. He takes another swig of his drink and keeps walking in silence.

“I’ve also coached Derek through his relationship chaos,” Cora says. “And his relationship chaos is usually hell.”

“I can’t imagine Derek dating anybody,” Scott says.

“Yeah,” Cora says darkly. “There’s a reason for that.”

“Is he ever going to open up?”

Cora snorts. “Not likely. You’ve been working him for too long to need to ask that.”

“It’s not really a job you make a lot of friends in,” Scott says.

“Yeah, I figured,” Cora says. “I bet strippers hook up with their coworkers a lot, though.”

“Derek isn’t my type,” Scott says reflexively.

“I didn’t mean Derek,” Cora says.

Scott looks down at the ground, feeling the sun beat down on the back of his neck. “I don’t know if Stiles and I can do casual,” he says.

“You guys have been ride or die from day one, right?”

“Pretty much,” Scott says. They’re drawing closer to the small town now and Scott can’t see anything that looks like a mechanic. 

“Sounds healthy,” Cora says.

Scott does a double take. “Because you and Derek are super healthy,” he throws back.

“Being a dick because you’re hungover isn’t cool,” Cora tells him. “Me and Derek have our reasons.”

“You’re always so cryptic,” Scott says.

“You’re always so dumb,” Cora says. She stops by a convenience store. “I gotta take a leak,” she says, jerking her thumb at the building. She doesn’t wait for him to say anything before she turns and walks away, and Scott’s left staring vacantly at her retreating back. 

Firing insults at each other isn’t going to help anything, Scott knows. But he doesn’t have an answer to any of the questions she’s asking and it’s just making him more confused.

Maybe he is dumb, Scott thinks. Anybody with half a brain cell would have communicated with their best friend before sleeping with them. Or worse, getting a blowjob and then passing out before he could reciprocate. Scott must be the worst lay Stiles has ever had - except he knows that isn’t true because he knows all the details of Stiles’ sexual history, because that’s the shit they’ve always shared.

Neither of them have anyone to share this mess with. Nobody to talk it out with or to figure things out with. Nobody even to complain to. Really, it makes their friendship kind of unhealthy how much they depend on each other, because when things go wrong, they’re fucked.

Not only that, but now they’re fucked in the middle of nowhere on a road trip. Things have never gone wrong between them before, not like this. This isn’t even the kind of problem he can call his mom in for help on, either. It’s just the group of them stuck on the road. He can only hope it doesn’t mess up their routine, and even that might be aiming a little high.

For years, Stiles has been one of the most important people in his life. Anything that throws that off balance is terrifying.

The expression on Cora’s face as she emerges from the store is similarly terrifying, though. She’s scowling at him, presumably still unimpressed at Scott speculating about her and Derek. It’s not like he really thinks there’s anything shady going on.

Cora falls into step with him and they keep walking, scanning the buildings on either side of the road for any hint of a mechanic. 

“You must have heard about the Hale fire,” Cora says eventually. “I skipped town straight after, but I know people talked about it.”

“House got burnt down,” Scott says, shrugging.

“My house,” Cora says. “The house my family lived in.”

Scott swallows. “I guess I never made that connection.”

“Nor did anyone else,” Cora says. “Which was fine by us.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott says quietly.

“Stiles was way shittier about it than you,” Cora says. “Derek will be pissed I said anything.”

“So it’s just you and Derek, then?” Scott asks, as delicately as he can manage. Cora shoots him a look anyway.

She does answer, though. “Since I was eleven,” she says. 

“That’s got to suck,” Scott says. 

Cora shrugs. “We look out for each other. It’s why I’m here.”

“That’s what I have Stiles for,” Scott says. 

“And you don’t want to ruin that by fucking,” Cora says. “That’s what the issue is, right?”

“I don’t know what I want,” Scott says.

“To see him naked,” Cora says.

Scott remembers now why they don’t talk much. She’s always so blunt and to the point. “It’s not just that,” he says.

“Sure,” Cora says. There’s an easy smirk on her face, like she’s relaxed into the conversation now that it’s away from her family.

“No, I - I can’t put it into words.”

“So you want to date him?”

Scott lets out a frustrated groan. “No! I don’t think so. He’s my best friend. Why would I want to date him?”

“Because you’re both into dudes and you live in each other’s pockets?”

“That’s not a reason,” Scott points out.

Cora rolls her eyes. “You’re not going to figure this out, are you?”

“Not with this headache,” Scott says.

Cora laughs. “C’mon, I think I see a mechanic. Do you want to phone Stiles and see how the van’s doing?”

“No,” Scott says sulkily. Cora laughs and pulls out her phone, hitting the speed dial.

“Der, I’m standing outside a mechanic,” she says.

Scott listens to Derek’s tinny voice saying things he can’t make out. He kicks at the patch of grass he’s standing on fruitlessly and takes another swig from the bottle of the water. The mechanic looks a little tired, the paint peeling and the sign rusting through, but it does at least look open which is all Scott can hope for.

He just hopes they won’t charge them through the nose. 

“Yeah, we’ll get a ride to you,” Cora tells Derek and then hangs up.

“Something about the spark plug,” Cora says. “Let’s go negotiate.”

“You are just as terrifying as Lydia,” Scott tells her. She throws a grin over her shoulder at him as she marches up to the glass door. Scott jogs to catch up with her. The inside of the mechanic is blessedly cool when the door closes behind them, and Cora is already talking easily with a guy in scruffy blue overalls. 

“You’re parked up on the interstate?” the guy is asking Cora.

“Yeah,” Cora says. “My brother and some friends are with the van.”

They exchange a few more words and Scott follows behind as they climb into the mechanics truck. He introduces himself as Joel and and the ride back down the interstate to the van is short and quiet. Cora’s returned to her usual snarky state, not willing to make nice with the mechanic for a discount, apparently.

They pull up behind the van, and it takes Scott a minute or so to work up the courage to get out of the truck. Stiles’ forearms have oily smears on them and he’s bent down in front of the popped hood, concentrating fiercely.

Cora makes a disgusted noise and Scott looks across at her. “You’re staring,” she tells him, and his cheeks grow warm.

He clears his throat and jumps down to the ground. The mechanic has already approached the others, and Stiles stands up fully to allow him to inspect the engine. 

“You won’t tell anyone?” Scott asks Cora, eyes still on Stiles.

“No,” Cora says. She doesn’t sound happy about it, but she commits regardless. 

“Thanks,” Scott calls after her as she stomps toward Derek. 

He rejoins the group, taking another swig of water so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Stiles.

“Enjoy the fresh air?” Lydia asks coolly.

Scott pulls a face at her and she smirks back at him.

“We had an idea while you were gone,” Derek says. “We’re going to have to stay nearby while the van gets fixed, and we need to practice.”

“Right?” Scott says.

“So we’re going to practice out here,” Stiles says, gesturing around him.

“We’re going to practice the routine in a field?” Scott says.

“Maybe one closer to the town,” Derek says. “It was Stiles’ idea.”

Scott looks across at Stiles and meets a hard glare. 

“Alright,” he says eventually.

“I still think it’s a ridiculous idea,” Lydia says.

“Do you want your portion of the tips or what?” Derek says.

“Wait, Lydia’s getting tips?” Stiles asks, and they start bickering again. Scott doesn’t take part, distracted by the thought of Stiles’ hips gyrating in the field, and how completely ridiculous it will look.

Joel loads the van on the tow and gives them a ride back to the town - Scott doesn’t care what the name is - and they grab their suitcases and set out for a motel. Derek announces he’ll even settle for one that charges by the hour when they stumble on a relatively non-grimy one. They leave their suitcases in the room Derek claims for himself and set out of town again.

“Do we need alcohol to make this easier?” Cora asks.

“Why are you watching?” Stiles says. “Your brother is going to take his clothes off.”

“I’m giving objective feedback,” Cora says flatly.

“She’s going to a bar,” Derek says. “She’s not watching.”

Cora flashes a grin at Stiles. “Sorry to disappoint,” she tells him, and he rolls his eyes. Before they reach the edge of the town she peels off and promises she’ll bring them some food in an hour or so. The four of them keep on walking until the building are behind them, and then they split away from the road into the field set back from the interstate. They don’t want to be too visible to passersby, not with the raunchy routine they practiced back in Beacon Hills. 

Distantly, Scott can see a field with some trees in it, fairly well spaced. He points them out, poses the idea of using them as props, and they head for that field. 

“Ready?” Lydia asks.

“We don’t have any music,” Scott says. 

“I’ve got speakers and the soundtrack on my phone,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not just lighting.”

“We’d be lost without you,” Stiles calls out. Scott tries hard not to feel bitter. Stiles has still barely spoken a word to him all day and now they’re going to dance together, and they originally choreographed the routine to be intimate.

It was a joke, at first. It felt natural because of how close they were, and like, stripping is a job. It’s just their lives, they live together, they’re best friends, and they take off their clothes for money. When they started preparing for the convention it got a lot more serious and... looking back, Scott guesses there was some tension there, maybe. Now, though? Now Scott doesn’t want to be anywhere near Stiles. He definitely doesn’t want to be grinding their hips together, not like they were in the club last night.

It will feel like a lie, and it will make last night feel like a lie. Scott doesn’t know what he wants last night to feel like yet, but if nothing else it was honest. Perhaps silly, perhaps misguided, but honest. 

Lydia loads up the song on her phone and Derek sets out some sticks to mark areas of the stage. They don’t know exactly how their staging will be once they get to Myrtle Beach but they can do a rough approximation, and it’s not like this is a serious practice anyway. They’re in a goddamn field. 

The music starts playing once they’ve taken their positions on stage, and they don’t have the dramatic lighting they prefer so they have to make do best they can. 

It starts with Derek, and the hip thrusting and gyrating they’re all familiar with - though it looks a little strange as he treads across the soft grass. Then Stiles does his moves and Scott won’t - can’t - watch. He just waits for his cue and begins to move with the music, shedding his shirt quickly on the grass and praying it won’t get covered in bugs before the night is through.

The tinny music is throwing him off, Scott decides, when he stumbles. That, or the grass is getting damp with dew as the light begins to fade, but he doesn’t think it’s that late yet. He picks himself up as gracefully as he can, still jerking his hips. He wishes they’d brought all the props with them, because a lot of this feels pretty silly without.

The song gets to the chorus and Derek drops to the floor, Scott and Stiles on either side of them on their knees. He feels oddly clumsy on the grass, and when the music cuts, Lydia is frowning at him.

She looks down at him critically as Derek sits up. “Is it always that bad?”

“It’s the grass,” Scott says. “It’s hard to look sexy on grass.”

“Please,” Lydia says. “I spent all of high school looking sexy on grass.”

Scott rolls his eyes.

“I can look sexy on grass,” Derek says. Scott’s pretty sure he’s lounging - actually lounging - on the grass. Scott hopes a bug bites his nipple. 

“Alright, we’ll do it again,” Scott says.

Lydia purses her lips. “Maybe we need to try something else.”

Scott raises his eyebrows. “This is the routine we’re performing.”

“How do you normally warm up before your routine?”

Scott glances at Derek and Stiles, but Lydia seems to be focused on him. “We put on some music, drink a beer or two. Stretch, if we want.”

At this, Stiles folds neatly in two, bending down to touch his toes. He’s impressively flexible, and it takes a moment before Scott realises Lydia’s started speaking again.

“-going to put on some music and I want you guys to just dance. Relax. Have fun. Sort your shit out.” With the last sentence, Lydia gives Scott a pointed glare. She flips through her phone until she finds a song she deems acceptable, and then she hits play.

Scott doesn’t know what to do. He’s standing in a field, shirtless. He wouldn’t know how to make this more awkward if he tried.

“Move,” Derek says through his teeth.

“We’re in a field,” Scott says.

“Dance, asshole,” Stiles says. Even Stiles is moving his limbs in a rhythm, throwing in the occasionally hip thrust, looking just as hot in the field as he does in the club. 

Scott starts moving - he even does the move that nobody else has quite managed, with the hips and the thrusting and the hitting the floor - and he gets into it, he does. Until Stiles comes close, too close, and Scott hits him. Accidentally! But Stiles still swears loudly.

“What the fuck, dude?” He’s rubbing his arm with a pained expression. “That’s gonna bruise.”

“It was an accident,” Scott says. “Sorry.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it with a loud click audible over the music.

“Can we go back to the routine again?” Stiles asks Lydia.

“You two need couples therapy,” Lydia says, but she switches songs and they get back in their starting positions and go through the whole routine again.

It flows better that time, Scott feels like he’s almost in the rhythm of it. Like he can do this.

Lydia wrinkles her nose but nods, when she’s done, and that’s when Cora arrives with some food and a couple beers.

“I got burgers,” Cora says. “And condiments.”

“And beer,” Derek says, and Cora passes him a can. He pulls a face at the brand but takes it anyway.

“How’s it going?” Cora says.

“Scott’s clumsy, Stiles is awkward, Derek is sex on a stick,” Lydia says. 

Cora raises her eyebrows. “So Scott and Stiles should practise together.”

“What?” Scott says, too quickly.

“Have a beer, chill out,” Cora says, passing him a can. “Then when you’re buzzed, it’ll be easier.”

“Awesome,” Scott says sarcastically. 

Cora rolls her eyes and Scott cracks open the can. It’s cheap beer, so it doesn’t taste great, but he chugs it down and starts snacking on fries. They’re sitting on the grass and Scott still doesn’t have his shirt on, but he has to put the burger down to get it and he’s unwilling to do that. 

“Don’t eat too much, you’ll be too full to practise,” Lydia says.

“You’re the worst,” Stiles says, speaking with his mouth full. She pulls a face. 

“Swallow, then get moving,” she tells him.

Cora snorts, and Scott’s cheeks go pink, because Stiles definitely swallows. They make eye contact and Scott thinks it might be the longest second of his life before he drags his eyes away. 

“Pick a good song,” he tells Lydia.

Lydia waves a hand dismissively, not looking up from her phone. “You better make an effort.”

Scott swallows one final time and nods, standing up. He takes another swig of his beer - a long pull, for maximum effect - and then puts it down in the grass. 

Stiles stands, too, wiping his hands on his jeans. Scott wants to put his short back on, anything for an extra physical barrier between them, but it’s over by the tree and picking it up to put it on won’t be subtle.

Lydia hits the play button and a song Scott doesn’t know starts coming out the speakers.

“You guys are way too far apart,” Cora says drily. Scott glares are her and she shrugs and shoves some more fries in her mouth.

“We’re fine,” Scott says.

Stiles snorts. “This is not how strippers dance,” he says to Scott, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a mean smile Scott has only seen directed at customers who grope. “Turn the music up,” he says to Lydia, who obliges. 

He comes close to Scott, dangerously close, and Scott’s still stood stock still. Stiles’ hips are doing something Scott recognises all too well from last night in the club. There’s heat between them, and Scott has to start moving. He slides a leg between Stiles, his mouth in a firm line, and starts writhing against him. 

The friction is - the friction is something else. There’s a challenge in Stiles’ eyes that Scott can’t quite match and he wants to taste the salt on Stiles’ lips.

He stumbles and falls.

It’s the easiest route out.

“What the hell is up with you two?” Lydia snaps, the music coming to an abrupt stop. “That was the angriest grinding I’ve ever seen.”

Scott wrinkles his nose, still lying shirtless on the grass. “It’s nothing.”

“Like hell it is,” Lydia says.

“Drop it, Lyds,” Cora says. “It’s between them.”

There’s a sharp pain to Scott’s ankle and he looks up to see Stiles, his foot moving to kick him again. “You told her?”

Scott glances between them. “I’m not allowed to talk about it?”

“You’ve been weird all day,” Stiles says. “And now you can’t even dance?”

“I’m sorry,” Scott spits. “Apparently I’m not allowed time to be pissed off.”

“What do you even have to be angry about?” Stiles yells back.

“Guys,” Derek shouts. “Stop arguing.”

Scott and Stiles both turn to look at him. He’s standing up, still shirtless, and his hands are on his hips. 

“What happened last night?” Lydia asks.

“Shut up,” Derek and Cora say at the same time. 

Lydia rolls her eyes. 

“Let’s go back to the motel,” Derek says. He pauses. “Scott, you can share with me tonight. Stiles can take my room.”

“Thanks, Derek,” Scott says quietly. The walk back to the motel is quiet, and Scott pours out the rest of his beer on the grass. He doesn’t want to get alcohol involved in any of this, even though one beer won’t affect him that much.

They sort out their luggage and all agree to get an early night, and Derek doesn’t ask too many questions as they flip through the channels to find the least terrible tv. Scott takes a shower, washing the grass out of his hair, and then he tries to sleep.

Tomorrow will be better, he’s sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, thanks for reading. Editing this took a lot more energy than I was expecting, and university is spectacularly tiring.
> 
> Let me know what you think <3


	3. Chapter 3

He isn’t hungover this morning, which is a marked improvement on yesterday, but there’s lingering awkwardness - between all of them, not just Scott and Stiles. Lydia’s annoyed that she’s being left out of something, and that Cora and Derek snapped at her. Derek, Scott is pretty sure, is overthinking their performance. It’s only two days away and their practise yesterday didn’t exactly go well. 

Cora is... well, Cora’s always keeping something to herself. They don’t talk over breakfast - the motel has a cafe, and the coffee is poor quality and waitresses smell like smoke - and the walk to mechanic is punctuated only by bickering about who’s paying for it.

“It’s Isaac’s damn van,” Derek grumbles, but he’s eventually overruled by Cora and Lydia. 

Joel the mechanic isn’t here today, but someone else in similarly grease stained overalls wearing a barely readable name tag greets them. “Your van is all fixed up,” he says.

“Thanks,” Derek says. Scott tugs out his wallet, tries not to blush when he remembers paying for Stiles’ entry to the club, joking that it was a date.

The mechanic names a price and Lydia and Cora step forward and immediately start talking him down. Scott does the math in his head and he’s pretty sure splitting it equally between all of them will leave all of them pretty skint. That means no more drinking and doing potentially friendship ruining things, he’s pretty sure, but that can’t be a bad thing.

They pay up, splitting the bill between the five of them - though Derek pays the least because they owe him for gas, anyway, and the mechanic gives Derek back the keys to the van. 

They have to drive it back to the motel to load it up with their luggage, the walk between the motel and the mechanic deemed too long to pull a suitcase under the morning sun. 

It only takes a two minute journey for Scott to make up his mind, though he doesn’t mention it until after the luggage is loaded in the van.

“I’ll sit up front,” Scott says. He’s not eager to sit beside Stiles, cramped in the back of the van, with tension still sparking between them. He’s pretty sure he can take Stiles in a physical fight, but he doesn’t want to hurt him.

That’s the problem. He wants to do the opposite. He was lying awake in bed last night thinking about how strange Derek’s breathing (and occasionally snoring) sounded next to him when it should have been Stiles. Their friendship is important, so important - but Scott wants to make him gasp for air.

And he wants that closeness back, too. The bond they’ve always had seems weak, if not completely absent. 

“Can you read a map?” Cora asks, wrinkling her nose.

Scott shrugs. “I have a smartphone.”

Cora narrows her eyes. “Just for today,” she says.

Scott grins widely at her and she climbs in the back of the van, sliding in beside Lydia. Scott gets in the front next to Derek and immediately starts fiddling with the radio.

“Everyone good?” Derek asks. There are murmurs of agreement from the back seat, and Scott settles on a radio station and makes a noise of assent.

“Alright,” Derek says, to the sound of blink-182, and the van pulls out of the motel car park and gets back on the interstate. 

Cora and Lydia talk in quiet voices in the backseat and Scott rests his head against the window, feeling the vibration of the engine. His eyes drift shut, but he doesn’t sleep. He’s too wrapped up in his thoughts, his thoughts about Stiles and the argument and everything that led up to it. 

“Scott,” Lydia says loudly. “Are you asleep?”

Scott doesn’t respond. Lydia’s been getting on his nerves, nudging him about Stiles and trying to figure out what happened, and he doesn’t want to talk to her. Not today, when he’s mixed up enough about it already. 

“We can wake him up,” Cora says.

“No,” Lydia says. “I was just checking.”

Scott wishes he could see her face right now, because he’s certain she’s up to something. Got some devious plan up her sleeve, like Lydia always has. Scott has to wonder if Cora’s let slip what happened to Lydia, if Lydia knows all the intimate details.

Lydia always knows something, that’s the thing.

And Scott’s not ready for this to be out in the open. 

He wants to do it again. He wants to taste Stiles’ skin, he wants to have his hand around his cock again. He wants to give Stiles the orgasm he never got - he wants it not to be ruined by drunkenness or shame. The problem is - the problem is, he doesn’t know how to make that work with his friendship with Stiles. The two parts don’t match, don’t work side by side. 

Their friendship outweighs anything physical Scott might want... and if there are feelings involved? Scott doesn’t even want to think about that, regardless of whether or not they might be reciprocated. He still doesn’t know why Stiles kissed him, why any of it happened. 

“Are you ever going to tell us what happened, Stiles?” Lydia asks. 

“Lydia,” Cora says, her tone a warning.

“What? Scott won’t tell us, but he’s asleep. Stiles can speak freely.”

Scott’s certain that if he opened his eyes, Cora would be rolling hers. Stiles doesn’t answer, anyway, and Derek flips the radio to some jazz and turns the volume up.

Scott can’t even be mad about the station change because he’s pretending to sleep. 

“Stiles?” Lydia prompts.

Stiles groans. “It’s really none of your business.”

“It’s affecting all of us,” Lydia says. “Including your performance.”

“It’s affecting Scott’s performance,” Stiles says. “I’m fine.”

Lydia makes a disgusted noise. “C’mon, spill,” she says.

“Why don’t we talk about you and Cora?” Stiles asks brightly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you and Scott fight before,” Lydia says, as if Stiles hasn’t spoken. 

“We fought in high school some,” Stiles says. “It happens.”

Scott wishes he could turn and see their faces. He wishes he could see Stiles’ expression, so he could try to untangle how he feels. 

“I don’t remember,” Lydia says.

There’s a brief silence. Then: “Were you paying much attention?”

Lydia laughs. “Not in the slightest,” she says. She sounds like she’s grinning and Scott feels a pang of hurt for Stiles, for all that he’s frustrated with him right now.

“It’ll blow over soon,” Stiles says.

Scott squeezes his eyes a little tighter shut. 

“But what started it?” Lydia presses.

“C’mon, Martin,” Cora says. “Why are you so invested?”

Silence. Jazz tunes fill the car and Scott desperately wants to change the radio station.

Stiles sighs. “I did something stupid. That’s literally the whole story. Scott was really drunk and in the morning... I guess in the morning he figured he was mad.”

“Did you think about apologizing?”

Stiles snorts. “It’s more complicated than that.”

Yeah, Scott thinks, it really is. 

“Fine. Be vague,” Lydia says. 

“Are you going to drop it now?” Stiles asks. “Because you know you’re making things worse.”

“Alright,” Lydia says, though she doesn’t sound happy about it.

“Finally,” Cora says. “Can Derek turn the music down now?”

“Just for you,” Derek says, and Scott resists the urge to smile. The music goes down to a lower volume and Scott wonders how to fake waking up.

His spot by the window is comfortable, anyway, and being awake might mean Lydia feels the need to press him about Stiles. And he doesn’t want to make Stiles suffer. 

The van keeps trucking along the interstate, and eventually Cora leans forward and shakes Scott’s shoulder to wake him.

“We need directions,” Cora says. “That’s your job.”

“Alright,” Scott says, rubbing his eyes. “Where we headed today?”

Derek tells him the name of the city they’re headed for and Scott types it into his phone, praying he has enough signal to get directions. He really doesn’t want to resort to Cora’s worn map book.

“Sleep well?” Lydia asks.

Scott frowns. “When did the radio station change?”

“We couldn’t hear the pop punk over your snoring,” Lydia says.

Scott rolls his eyes. “I don’t snore.”

“He doesn’t,” Derek confirms.

Scott turns his head and glances at Stiles, who gives a stiff nod. “Nah, Scotty doesn’t snore,” he says.

Stiles offers Scott a tentative smile, and Scott has to look away. He doesn’t want Stiles to see his cheeks going pink. It’s not until Stiles clears his throat that he realizes how that might have been taken, and he feels too awkward to meet Stiles’ eyes again. He’s sure his cheeks are burning red. He scrubs a hand over his forehead, frowning, and Derek sighs.

“Can I switch the station?” Scott asks.

“Please,” Cora says. 

“It depends what to,” Derek says.

Scott swallows. “What are you two willing to compromise on?”

“Rock,” Derek says. “Nothing punk about it.”

Scott glances at Cora, who nods, and Scott starts station flipping until he finds something that sounds like it’s hardly punk at all. 

He glances at the back seat to check for Cora’s approval and finds Stiles staring blankly out of the windowof the van, not making eye contact with anyone. His knee is bouncing up and down furiously, a sure sign that he’s agitated, and it takes Scott a moment for him to drag his eyes away.

Cora raises an eyebrow at him, and Scott scowls.

“You two need to talk it out,” Derek says.

“What?” Scott asks, turning around. 

“You and Stiles,” Derek says.

“Wait,” Lydia says. “Am I the only one in this van who doesn’t know the details?”

“I don’t know any details,” Derek says calmly. “I just know there’s tension.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Scott says quietly.

Lydia makes a disgusted noise. “Men,” she mutters. 

Scott meets Stiles’ eyes and holds his gaze for the first time in what feels like days. Stiles looks away first this time, flicking his eyes back out the window, and Scott sighs.

“Not right now,” Scott says eventually, still watching Stiles. 

“We’ve got a performance coming up,” Derek says. 

“It won’t affect the performance,” Scott says.

Derek sighs. “It already is, Scott.”

“We’ll have time to practice when we get to the venue,” Scott says. “We can get everything polished and perfect.”

“Alright,” Derek says, sighing heavily. Scott continues directing him along the interstate, and the van lapses into silence.

Occasionally the radio presenters start talking and Derek indicates that Scott should switch stations, but for the most part it’s just silence. Silence that’s starting to grow awkward. Scott glances into the back seat and Stiles is still staring fixedly out the window and - Scott doesn’t even know why he feels guilty. If he should feel guilty.

Can you feel guilty for an act you’d gladly repeat?

Though gladly might be too strong a word for it, but he definitely wants to touch Stiles, make him moan again. He just doesn’t want to face the consequences of it, the difficult conversations they need to have. That’s where the guilt comes from, from avoiding it all. 

He leans forward and turns the volume up, and then he considers closing his eyes and feigning sleep. He jolts in his seat, though, when something hits the back of it, and then his phone vibrates in his pocket. 

Stiles:

We’re going to have to talk about it sometime.

Scott stares blankly at his phone. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t even know where to start the conversation.

OK. he sends. It’s not much of a text, not much of a conversation starter. He hopes it’ll be enough to show Stiles that he’s willing to communicate.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Derek grunts. He pulls over onto the shoulder and turns the engine off. 

“Derek?” Cora asks. 

“Scott, Stiles, get out of the van,” Derek says flatly.

“What?” Scott says. Derek reaches across him and pushes the door open.

“Out,” Derek says firmly.

“You’re leaving me by the side of the interstate?” Scott asks, unclipping his seatbelt. 

“No,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. He looks over his shoulder back at Stiles. “You need to get out too.”

Scott hears Stiles hitting the button to release his seatbelt behind him. “What the hell?” Stiles asks, opening his door. There’s a roar as a car goes past, definitely breaking the speed limit.

“You two are going to go out there and talk it out,” Derek says, his voice quiet but firm. “I don’t care how long it takes, so long as neither of you come back with bruises.”

“But-” Stiles says.

“No,” Derek says. “Go. Sort your shit out.”

Scott jumps down from the van, slamming the door behind him. The sun is beating down on him and he takes a few steps off the tarmac, not checking to see if Stiles is following him. If they’re going to have it in the conversation, he doesn’t want it to be in full view of the others. 

“Where are you going?” Stiles asks. Scott turns to see him standing by the van, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. 

“Shade,” Scott says, gesturing vaguely. There’s a strip of grass and then a hedgerow, and beyond that, a field. Scott can see a gate he plans to climb over, and then he can sit down by the hedge and they can have a conversation.

Stiles shrugs and walks toward him. “I could do with some shade.”

“We should have grabbed some water,” Scott says.

“Derek didn’t give us much choice,” Stiles says. 

Scott pauses, his hands on the gate, ready to jump over it. “I didn’t realize we were making it hard for him.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. Scott lets it hang in the air, waiting for Stiles to elaborate, but when he doesn’t he pushes himself up on the gate and swings a leg over, dropping to the other side.

When he glances back, Stiles’ eyes are a little wide. 

“Come on,” he says to Stiles. His eyes refocus and he follows suit, albeit clumsier than Scott had. 

“So we have to talk,” Stiles says uncomfortably. He’s not making eye contact with Scott, instead walking along the hedge trying to find a spot he’d like to sit. The hedge is taller than him, which comforts Scott somehow. It’s nice to know that Lydia won’t suddenly appear.

“We should have talked before we got on the road yesterday,” Scott says uncomfortably. 

“You weren’t in a great state,” Stiles says. He kicks at the dust and then settles down in it, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Scott sits beside him. He feels like he should be making eye contact for this conversation, but instead he stares out into the field.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says quietly. He wishes there were wind to take the words away, but instead they just hang in the air, useless.

“For which?” Stiles asks. “What happened, or everything since?”

Scott risks a glance at Stiles - Stiles, who’s looking intently at him, waiting for him to answer. He’s still in a way Scott hasn’t seen him be in years and - Scott doesn’t like that he’s responsible for that.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t get you off,” Scott says. He licks his lips and Stiles cheeks go pink.

“You were drunk,” Stiles says. It seems like he has to force the words out. “We shouldn’t have done anything, let alone what we did.”

“Did you think I didn’t want it?” Scott asks.

Stiles makes an exaggerated shoulder motion and almost falls over. “I didn’t know! You’ve barely spoken to me since. I didn’t realize how drunk you were until you puked. What if you didn’t remember anything? What if you didn’t want to, and I took advantage?”

“Stiles,” Scott says. He’s breathing heavily, and Scott wants to touch him, to calm him, but even a hand on his shoulder feels too intimate for this discussion. “You didn’t take advantage. I promise.”

Stiles’ breathing slows. “You were so drunk,” he says shakily.

“I still wanted it,” Scott says. 

Stiles blinks at him, long eyelashes fanning out on fair skin. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me yesterday?”

Scott bites his lip. “I don’t know. I needed time to process.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I guess I can understand that.”

Scott swallows and breaks eye contact to look back out at the field. He drops his weight onto his elbows and leans back. “Why did you kiss me?”

Stiles huffs a laugh. “Do you know how hot you are when you dance like that?”

Scott hums. There are too many thoughts in his head to keep track of, and he can’t pin one down enough to vocalize it. 

“I’m sorry it messed up practice,” Scott says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. He pauses. “You said you were angry.”

“Did I? When?”

“When I kicked you,” Stiles says. 

Scott swallows. “I guess I was confused. I was embarrassed, and I didn’t know if I wanted it to happen again.”

“Embarrassed?”

“I puked,” Scott reminds him.

Stiles laughs. 

They go silent, both staring out across the field. It doesn’t feel like they’ve really talked about everything, but the air feels a little clearer, and Scott feels a little more comfortable.

“What about you?” Scott asks quietly.

“What about me?” Stiles says, turning his head to look at Scott.

“What bothered you?”

Stiles blinks slowly, and then looks away again. “I thought, in the morning, that you were uncomfortable because I took advantage. I thought I’d fucked it all up.”

Scott scoots closer to Stiles, bumping their shoulders together. “You didn’t.”

“I won’t do it again,” Stiles says.

Scott swallows. “What if I want you to?” he asks, his cheeks flaming red. 

“What?” 

Scott swallows and tips his head back, looking up at the sky. “I was worried that because I... because I wanted you, it might mean the end of our friendship. I don’t want anything to change.”

“Past tense?” Stiles asks, and his voice is eerily close. Scott flicks his eyes down and Stiles is right there, so close Scott could count his eyelashes.

“No,” Scott says, mouth dry. “Present.”

His eyes drop to Stiles’ lips and he wonders what they taste like now, if Stiles brushed his teeth after breakfast, when he last had a cigarette. 

“This is probably a bad idea,” Stiles says softly. He’s so close Scott can feel his breath on his lips.

“A terrible one,” Scott agrees. He licks his lips and meets Stiles eyes. 

It’s not clear who moves first, maybe they both move at once, but either way suddenly their lips are pressed together and Scott’s got a hand in Stiles’ hair and Stiles’ hands are hot against his skin. The dirt is dry against his knees and the kisses are sloppy and wet. Scott pushes forward, shifting his wait until he’s on top of Stiles and Stiles is lying backwards, and then he starts kissing along his jaw, pressing hurried kisses to every bit of skin he can find.

A breeze rustles the leaves on the hedge and Scott freezes for a moment, thinking he’s going to get caught.

“We don’t have long,” Stiles says.

Scott smiles at him. “I owe you a blowjob.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You don’t owe me shit.”

Scott licks a stripe down Stiles’ neck, feeling his heartbeat fluttering under his tongue. “I want to,” he says. Stiles nods and Scott shuffles down, the dirt rough on his knees.

“I’m not putting my bare ass on the ground,” Stiles says.

“You got me off in a men’s room,” Scott points out.

“How are we going to hide this from the others?”

“You’ve already got dirt in your hair,” Scott says.

“Fuck,” Stiles says, lifting his head up and scrubbing his hand through his hair.

Scott snorts. “Now you have sex hair.”

Stiles opens his mouth to speak but Scott presses his lips to the soft skin on his belly and he gasps. He fumbles undoing the belt and tugs Stiles’ fly down. He reaches inside the waistband of his boxers, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ already stiff cock. 

“No bare ass?” He looks at Stiles to confirm, and Stiles nods, biting his lip with a pained expression. Scott has probably kept him in suspense a little too long - he never got off the other night, after all. 

Scott slips Stiles’ cock out above the waistband of his boxers. He takes a moment to examine it - he hadn’t gotten a good look at it before - before he sticks his tongue out to flick gently against the head of it.

Stiles groans, and Scott grins. He likes bringing that sound out of Stiles, for all that he’s going to have a sore jaw and be covered in dirt by the time he’s finished. Not to mention, Scott’s own erection, pressing through his jeans, is giving him more than a little discomfort.

He wraps his hand around the base of Stiles’ cock, sitting back on Stiles’ thighs as he admires it. He leans forward again and takes Stiles in his mouth, feeling the weight of it on his tongue, tasting the drop of liquid at the tip. 

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes out, above him, and Scott takes more of in his mouth. He lifts his head off and makes eye contact with Stiles, and Stiles lifts his hand to run it through his hair. It feels oddly tender, having Stiles’ hand buried in his hair, and Scott licks his lips before swallowing down Stiles’ cock once more. 

He sucks Stiles’ cock in and out of his mouth, eventually pulling off with a loud, primal pop. His dick is shiny with spit, and a pleasing red, too. He licks down the length of it, once, twice, until Stiles’ hips begin to jerk.

“Close?” Scott asks.

Stiles nods. “I need,” he pauses. “Come up here.”

Scott slides as best he can up Stiles’ body, and Stiles meets him in an open mouthed kiss. Scott wonders what he tastes like as he rests an arm on the ground. He wonders if Stiles has ever tasted his own cock before, and the thought drives him a little mad with lust.

There’s friction in his jeans and without really being aware of it he’s rutting against Stiles, his fingers wrapped around Stiles’ cock.

Stiles breaks the kiss to gasp for air and let out a guttural moan.

“Soon,” Stiles says. “Please don’t stain my jeans.”

Right. They have to get back in the van afterwards, and they’re going to smell like sex, and it’s going to be hell.

Scott has to stop and concentrate and make sure he’s paying attention, to catch all of Stiles’ cum in his hand, but the view he gets it worth it. Stiles’ eyes screw up in delight and his hips jerk and his cheeks have a high, bright flush to them. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow and Scott wants, wants to badly.

He wipes his hand on the grass, grimacing. 

He lies beside Stiles, shoulder to shoulder, and waits for Stiles to recover.

“You’re good at that,” Stiles says, voice a little hoarse.

Scott grins. “Glad you enjoyed it.” He turns his head to the side and kisses Stiles again. He can’t lift his hand to put it in Stiles’ hair, still sticky, which is a shame, but Stiles’ teeth on his lip is a sensation he enjoys just as much.

The kiss is long and slow and soon Scott is rutting against Stiles’ hip again, Stiles’ palm cool on his lower back as it slides under his shirt.

Stiles’ other hand slides down to cup Scott’s crotch, applying just enough pressure to the head of his cock.

“I’m not getting in the van with crusty jeans,” Scott says. Stiles grins at him, a lazy smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay,” he says, and then he undoes the button on Scott’s jeans with one hand. Scott has to shut his eyes. He can’t bear to look at the leer on Stiles’ face as his hand is around his cock.

He kisses Stiles again, dropping his own (clean) hand down to meet Stiles’. 

“I just want to look at you,” Scott says, shuffling back. He fishes his dick out of his jeans as he sits back on his heels and palms it gently. Stiles is handsome as hell, lying back on the ground with his sex hair, his shirt creased and his eyes narrowed with lust.

Stiles tugs at Scott’s hand and begins to suck his fingers into his mouth as Scott jerks his cock, wrapping his fingers around it and tugging it in the dry, familiar way he’s been doing it for years.

It’s very different when Stiles starts licking his palm, his tongue setting nerves on fire that Scott didn’t even know he had.

“Fuck,” Scott says.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” Stiles says, smirking at him. Three of Scott’s fingers slide into his mouth and he gasps out loud as Stiles runs his tongue along them. His knees are beginning to ache, and he’s pretty sure there’s dust in his shoes, but he doesn’t care.

The sight of Stiles, relaxed in front of him, is the best painkiller there is. 

“You’re so hot,” Scott says.

“Yeah?” Stiles says. His eyes are bright and he’s smiling around Scott’s fingers and this is the best, the best possible version of what they could be. 

His hips are jerking and he’s close, so close, and the sun seems brighter and the wind seems louder and everything is going a little white as ropes of come land on the ground, missing Stiles’ jeans by inches. His hand slips out of Stiles’ mouth and he wipes it on the grass, drying it. It feels less sticky and gross now, which is nice.

“Hot,” Stiles says, grinning. 

“We made a mess,” Scott says, grimacing.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “How long do you think it’ll be before they come looking for us?”

Scott shrugs, fixing his boxers and doing up his fly. “They said take as long as we need.”

“I don’t think they were picturing this,” Stiles says. 

Scott snorts. “Probably not.”

“What are we going to tell them?” Stiles asks.

“Cora knows,” Scott says quietly.

“And she has an amazing sense for people who’ve just hooked up.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Creepy,” Stiles says.

Scott frowns. “She won’t say anything, though.”

“Lydia will,” Stiles says, frowning. Scott’s a little sad to see the bright look in his eyes fade, but they do need to talk, anyway. 

“All that should matter is that we made up,” Scott says firmly. 

Stiles squints at him, the smile returning to his face. “So you’re not gonna ditch me for Derek tonight?”

“You get jealous?” Scott asks. 

It’s a little too close to the bone, a little too close to the things they haven’t really talked about. What happens now? That’s the question. Where do they go from here, from orgasms, from lying in a field and laughing? Scott needs to figure out what this means.

“A little,” Stiles says. 

“Derek’s not my type,” Scott says.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “I always got a weird vibe from him.”

“We’re strippers,” Scott says. “You get a weird vibe from everyone who walks through the door.”

Stiles grins. “True.”

His eyelids start to droop and Scott kicks him the side. He yelps and scowls. 

“We can’t sleep,” Scott says. “They’ll come looking for us.”

“And we’d get sunburnt,” Stiles says, glaring mutinously at the sky. 

Scott laughs. “I’m glad we’re good again.”

“Being mad at you was so weird,” Stiles says. 

Scott stands up, brushing the dust off of himself, and then offers a hand to help Stiles up. Somehow, Stiles pulls him down and they end up in a pile, giggling as Stiles presses soft kisses to the nape of Scott’s neck, his breath making his hair stand on end.

“We should never move again,” Stiles says into his ear.

“We have a performance to get to,” Scott says, but he doesn’t particularly feel like moving. Not with Stiles warm beneath him.

“No,” Stiles says. “We’re staying right here.”

Scott lifts his head to press a kiss to Stiles’ lips.

“We’re not,” Scott says. “C’mon. Think of the motel bed. Picture it in your head.”

Stiles narrows his eyes as Scott rolls off of him and stands up again. “Fine,” he says, pushing himself to his feet.

“Do we need to talk about this?” Scott says quietly. “So it doesn’t get...”

“Nobody puked this time,” Stiles says.

Scott groans. “I’m so sorry, dude, you have no idea.”

Stiles laughs. “Friends?” he says, sticking his hand out for Scott to shake. Scott pulls him on for a hug, a proper back slapping bro hug.

“Always,” he says. 

There are other things he doesn’t say, like - is this what friends do? Is that what our friendship is now?

And the bigger question - are we going to do this again?

Because fuck, he wants to. He doesn’t want this to be a one off, road trip thing. Playing while they’re away isn’t what Scott wants.

But he doesn’t know what other options there are. 

“We should get back,” Stiles says.

“You think they’ll be able to smell us?”

Stiles snorts. “Who gives a shit?”

“You’re the one who got all offended when you found out I told Cora,” Scott says, bumping Stiles’ shoulder as he walks.

“You talked to her, and not me,” Stiles says, approaching the gate. He climbs up and sits on the top, looking down at Scott. “That didn’t seem fair to me.”

“You know she’s fucking Lydia?”

Stiles blinks. “Holy shit.”

Scott grins. “Right? Don’t mention it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Please,” he says, like Stiles is known for keeping secrets. He reaches out a hand to pull Scott up and Scott rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Your balance is not that good,” Scott says, grinning. Stiles pulls a face at him and swings his legs over the other side, dropping to the ground as Scott climbs up.

“View’s not as good from here,” Stiles says, and Scott nearly falls as he lands. Stiles is grinning wide at him.

“Dick,” Scott mutters.

“You like my dick,” Stiles says confidently.

Scott scowls. “Are you always this insufferable after a blowjob?”

Stiles pauses, considering. “Yeah, probably.”

“Remind me not to repeat the experience,” Scott says.

Stiles rounds on him. “You wouldn’t!”

Scott’s cheek are beginning to hurt from smiling - or maybe from the blowjob. “Yeah?” 

“Don’t leave me destitute, Scotty,” Stiles says, his eyes turning wide. 

Scott laughs as they approach the van. “I would never,” he says.

“Good,” Stiles says, apparently satisfied, as he tugs open the door to the backseat of the van. Cora’s got her feat up on the front seats and Lydia’s stretched across. Scott doesn’t go straight to the front seat, he grabs a bottle of water from the trunk. He takes a long swig and then pours the rest over his hands, rinsing away any lingering evidence that the others might spot. He wipes his hands dry on his jeans and takes another swig of the water. 

“So you guys are all good,” Lydia’s saying to Stiles as Scott opens the van door.

“Sure we are,” Stiles says easily. “Nothing that can’t be fixed with some bro hugs.”

“All that drama and you just hugged it out?” Lydia asks.

Scott slides into the van. 

“Yep,” Stiles says easily. 

Lydia narrows her eyes, glancing between the two. Scott’s sure his cheeks are reddening but he plays for nonchalant.

The conversation meanders for a while, Lydia still appearing suspicious of the two of them, before Derek puts the key in the ignition and they get back on the road. 

Scott actually falls asleep, this time, head resting against the window. The rumbling of the van’s engine - considerably more healthy sounding than yesterday - lulls him to sleep, and he only wakes up when Derek pulls into a gas station.

“Nice snooze?” Cora asks as Scott jumps down from the van, eager to stretch out his stiff limbs. She’s wearing a smirk on her face that makes Scott think she’s figured out, somehow, exactly what he and Stiles were up to earlier.

Scott just hopes she doesn’t spill to Lydia. Derek, at least, hasn’t asked questions. He’s been an understanding dude, and Scott appreciates that. It almost makes him wish they spent more time together outside of work, actually became friends - but he doesn’t think Derek’s looking for friends.

“It’s because Derek snores, isn’t it?” Stiles says, grinning as he walks around the side of the van.

Scott rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t snore,” he says. 

“He does,” Cora says.

“I’m right here,” Derek says, from where he’s holding the gas pump.

Cora smiles at him and he pulls a face at her and Scott can’t help but smile at it. What can he say? He’s in a good mood.

“So we need to practise again,” Lydia announces, leaning against the van.

“We?” Scott asks.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I’m part of the team now, deal with it.”

“Are you going to take off your clothes too?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Lydia says. “Just doing all the work of introducing you guys.”

“I thought you were doing lighting,” Scott frowns.

Lydia shrugs. “Danny called while you were asleep. Your emcee cancelled.”

“Who’s going to do lighting?” Scott asks, still frowning.

“I’m going to teach Cora how to do that. And she’s going to shut her eyes when Derek’s on the stage.”

“That can only go well,” Stiles says sarcastically. “What a genius idea, Lydia.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Lydia says. “So. When are we going to practise? Now that you two are friends again, it should be easy, right?”

Scott pauses. “I was thinking, actually,” he says slowly. “Maybe we should rework the routine. Do something fresh.”

Derek actually stops pumping gas to stare at him. “We’re performing in two days, Scott.”

“No, he’s right,” Stiles says. “We should do something fresh. Our fans deserve nothing less.”

Derek rubs his forehead with his hand. “Is this about the money? You can take my share, if you want.”

“What? No,” Stiles says.

“Why are you doing this if you don’t need the money?” Scott asks. He has to - he knows he sure as hell isn’t doing it for fun. Sometimes it is fun, sure, but it’s not a choice. 

Derek doesn’t answer.

“He’s doing it as punishment,” Cora says.

“Cora,” Derek says, voice low and teeth gritted. He squeezes the handle and the gas starts pumping again.

Cora shrugs. “I’m not going to lie to justify your bad life decisions.”

“Hey, his life decisions are fine,” Stiles says. Scott blinks, a little surprised to see Stiles coming to Derek’s defence. “I certainly can’t judge.”

“Why do you take your clothes off for money?” Cora asks.

“For money,” Stiles says, grinning.

Cora rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a dick,” she says.

Stiles shrugs. “Gotta pay off my dad’s medical bills, haven’t I?”

Cora doesn’t know what to say to that, that much is clear.

“I’m saving up for vet school,” Scott says.

“Scott saves puppies,” Stiles says, grinning at him. 

Scott rolls his eyes. 

“Cute,” Lydia says. “You worked for Deaton in high school, right?”

Scott blinks at her. “Yeah, I did,” he says. He’s a little surprised she remembers, because it didn’t come up in high school often apart from detention made him late for his shift. And detention was almost always Stiles’ fault.

“You two should split my tips,” Derek says, hanging the pump up. “I’m going in to pay, you want anything.”

“I’ll come with,” Cora says, and the two of them immediately start arguing in fierce whispers.

“He can’t give away his tips,” Stiles says firmly, once the door has closed behind Derek.

Lydia shrugs. “If it’s what he wants to do.”

“He earned those,” Scott says, frowning.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Plus they’ll have his ass sweat all over them.”

Lydia wrinkles her nose in disgust. “I think I liked it better when you two were giving each other the silent treatment.”

“You did this,” Stiles tells her gleefully. “You fixed us. You have only yourself to blame.”

Lydia looks up to the sky, as if seeking divine intervention. Scott knows that feeling all too well. 

“Derek shouldn’t give away his tips, though,” Scott says. That’s what they need to talk about, and they don’t have long before Derek comes back from paying for gas. 

“What do you think Cora means about punishment?” Stiles asks.

Scott frowns. He wonders if it’s something to do with their parents, but he doesn’t know - he can’t be sure. He’s not sure if it’s okay to tell Stiles about that, anyway.

“Derek’s got issues,” Lydia says. “You guys seriously haven’t noticed?”

Scott shrugs. “I guess,” he says.

“Oblivious,” Lydia says.

“I noticed he was weird! But he never wants to talk about it,” Stiles says.

“We’ll just tell him we won’t take his tips,” Scott says, spotting Derek exiting the gas station and approaching them.

Stiles nods. “Right, exactly. I hate to turn down free money, though.”

“It’s not free,” Scott says. “You’ll owe him.”

Derek and Cora are eerily silent when they arrive - Scott gets the impression that their argument has been resolved but neither of them are happy about it.

“Why do you want to change the routine?” Derek asks. It sounds like it’s hard for him to say, like he’d rather say anything else in the world.

Scott shrugs. “It just feels like we should do something fresh. We’ll be performing to a whole new group of people.”

“So we should do something polished,” Derek says.

Stiles shrugs. “What’s the point in being polished if it’s the same over rehearsed routine we’ve been doing for months?”

“So over rehearsed Scott fell over yesterday,” Lydia points out. 

“So even if we stick with our current routine, it isn’t polished,” Stiles says.

Derek sighs. “We’ve got two days. How are we supposed to come up with a routine in that time?”

“I think we should go to a gay bar,” Scott says, abruptly. The words trip out of his mouth before he really has any idea what he’s saying, but it feels right. They’re going to go to a bar and grind and have fun, hang out with the kind of people their customers are. 

Derek raises an eyebrow. Stiles smirks at him, and Scott wills himself not to flush.

“So you can spend a whole day hungover and useless?” Lydia asks.

Stiles laughs. “Leave him be,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

He gives Scott a lewd wink and this time, Scott has no control over whether or not he goes bright red. 

“Actually,” Cora says slowly. “I think I know a guy.”

“A guy?” Stiles asks.

Cora shrugs. “I lived around here for a little bit. My foster brother was a drag queen.”

“Drag queens love me,” Stiles says, preening. 

Cora gives him a dead stare. “Don’t hit on him.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Stiles says, his voice raising in protest.

“We better get on the road,” Derek says, before Cora can respond, and they all pile into the car. Without even realizing, Scott has ended up in the back next to Stiles again, and Stiles’ hand is on his knee, and he doesn’t know how that happened. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He stays as still as he can, Stiles’ shoulder jostling against his as the van gets back on the freeway.

Cora dials her friend in the front seat, keeping one eye on the map as she directs them away from their planned route, toward the city he leaves in. She jokes with him, tells them their plan, and makes a contemplative noise as he talks for a long time.

“Alright,” she says, after hanging up. “Drew reckons he can get us some stage time. Are you guys prepared to improvise?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, looking at Stiles. “We can totally do that.”

“Good,” Cora says. “You’re performing, which means you can’t drink too much, too.”

“We’ll behave,” Stiles assures her. His hand squeezes Scott’s knee and it sends a thrill through Scott. 

Derek hums in agreement as he changes lanes and gets off the freeway.

“Is there a motel?” he asks Cora.

Cora frowns. “Yeah,” she says. Her voice is curt. “But...” she trails off.

“What?”

“We can check in first,” Cora says. “But I’d like you to meet Drew’s family.”

Scott has to look out the window at that, feeling like he’s intruding on an intimate sibling moment. Stiles’ hands starts to creep up his thigh, but stops when Derek speaks.

“How long were you with them?”

“Two years,” Cora says. “They were nice to me. They’d want to meet you.”

“Motel first,” Derek says, and Stiles’ hand resumes creeping up Scott’s thigh. He stares resolutely out the window, determined not to react, but it reaches a point where he can’t ignore it.

He puts his hand on top of Stiles’ and moves it to the seat. He doesn’t do anything else, just leaves his hand there, and it takes him a minute to realise that they’re holding hands.

He’s smiling at nothing as he stares out of the window, the conversation in the van dulling as he focuses on Stiles’ cool palm beneath his.

“Dork,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

Scott’s smile widens.

For a while the only sound in the van is Cora giving Derek directions, and then the van pulls up outside a motel. It’s nicer than the last one they stayed in, but only barely. Stiles goes to check them in as Cora and Derek talk in low voices, and he returns with three sets of keys.

He throws a set at Lydia and pockets another, and then he hovers awkwardly beside Derek, waiting for Derek’s conversation to be over so he can hand over the last set of keys. 

“You guys don’t want to meet my foster family,” Cora says firmly, when the keys have all been distributed.

“We don’t?” Stiles asks.

Cora rolls her eyes. “I don’t want them to meet you.”

Stiles scowls at her.

“We can hang out here,” Scott says quickly. “Text us when you want to meet at the bar?”

Cora narrows her eyes. “We’ll come back here. Not sure we can trust you not to get lost.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables.

The groups split up and Stiles leads Scott to their room, taking their bags from the van and dumping them. Stiles has got them a double bed, which makes Scott smile.

“No twins left?” he says, playing dumb.

“They had loads of twins,” Stiles says, shrugging. “I gave Cora and Lydia one.”

Scott snorts. “Cora will not be pleased.”

“Who do you think is the big spoon?”

Scott frowns. “Why are we talking about Cora and Lydia?”

Stiles shrugs. “Did you have something else on your mind?”

“We’ve got a few hours,” Scott says. He leaves the sentence dangling in the air, not quite willing to voice the possibilities.

Stiles raises an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest. “I think we should start talking about this stripping routine.”

“What?” Scott’s not going to lie, he’s a little blindsided by that. He’d expected some light flirting, maybe getting laid (because god he wants to fuck Stiles, properly fuck him, he really does). He hadn’t expected shop talk.

“We’ve got to be ready to perform,” Stiles says.

“Lydia said we were improvising.”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t want to embarrass myself on stage.”

“Alright,” Scott says slowly. “What’s the plan?”

“We need a song,” Stiles says. 

Scott flops backwards onto the bed. “You pick,” he says lazily. For all that it was his idea, he doesn’t want to dance right now. He’s torn between wanting Stiles naked in front of him and wanting to eat cheetos in his underwear with his best friend. It’s a weird feeling, and he wishes he could have both, and not have to worry about this competition. If they were back home - if they were back home, getting Stiles naked wouldn’t be an option.

Everything is so complicated. 

Something starts playing out of the speakers on Stiles’ phone. It’s got heavy bass and Scott doesn’t recognize it, and he knows most of Stiles’ favourites. It sounds like something he’d put on his sex playlist, the one Scott knows he has, but he’s definitely never heard it before.

“You’re not dancing,” Stiles says.

Scott lifts his head to see Stiles moving to the music, his hips swaying in gentle circles. Scott’s mouth waters. 

“I’m enjoying the view,” he says.

Stiles snorts, stepping closer. He does some kind of shimmy, his shoulders juddering in an oddly graceful manner as he slips off his tee. Scott takes in his abs and his pecs, the vast expense of skin in front of him.

“We should dance together,” Stiles says abruptly. He stills, no longer moving with the music. “In the performance, I mean.”

Scott props himself up on his elbows. “That... could work,” he says.

“It’ll be our hottest routine ever,” Stiles says. Scott can see him getting excited about the whole thing already as he starts to pace.

“What about Derek?” Scott asks, and Stiles stops to look at him.

“Have you seen Derek?” Stiles asks. “He doesn’t need our help.”

“Hey,” Scott says, faking offence. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Relax,” Stiles says. “I think you’re very pretty.”

Scott blows Stiles a kiss and Stiles laughs. “Come on, stand up and dance with me,” Stiles says. 

Scott rolls his eyes but obliges, and suddenly Stiles is close again, and the beat of the music is louder and it’s like when they were in the club but so much better, somehow.

It’s a performance, and there’s safety in that, because it’s so sexual and so charged and Scott doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s overwhelming and he can feel the pads of Stiles’ fingertips against his skin as he tugs at Scott’s shirt, pulling it off of him, and then he’s back on familiar ground. This is stripping, not dancing with his friend. This is work, not play.

He has to keep reminding himself of that. 

“We should perform like this,” Stiles breathes, barely audible over the music.

Scott circles his hips, his dick pressing against Stiles’ thigh. “Like this?”

Stiles nods, fingers going to Scott’s belt. “Like when we grind on the customers only-” he pauses, breathes deeply “-to each other.”

“As a performance?” Scott asks. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he has no idea what to do with his hands. He turns so his back is against Stiles’ chest, and somehow they’re even closer now, and it’s miles, acres of skin on skin.

Scott bends at the knees, tilting his head up to gaze at the ceiling, his hair brushing against Stiles’ abs. He rises again, and Stiles’ hands drift down his chest back to his belt.

Their hips move in rhythm to the music, an easy movement that’s almost automatic. They don’t have to try with simple dance moves any more, and maybe that’s how their routine got stale.

“This isn’t sexy enough,” Scott says, and Stiles laughs.

“We should go into porn,” he says, his breath brushing against Scott’s ear in a way that send chills down his spine.

Scott opens his mouth to reply but before he can, Stiles has undone his belt and his trousers are on the floor. He steps out of them, his boxer briefs the only barrier between him and Stiles’ jeans, and he grinds backwards, pressing his ass into Stiles’ groin.

Stiles’ cock is hard and Scott’s mouth waters a little. 

“You’re killing me,” Stiles says. Scott grins and turns around, so they’re chest to chest once more, and gets to work on Stiles’ own belt. 

“I don’t think the audience is seeing enough,” Scott says. “I mean- for a stripping routine.”

“Hypothetical audience,” Stiles says. “I’m with you.”

Stiles grins at Scott, their faces only inches apart, but the tension is gone. It’s back to being about work again, about making the best performance they can. 

Even if Scott can still feel Stiles’ hard dick against his own.

“We need props,” Stiles says.

“We don’t need props,” Scott says, rolling his eyes. He shifts his hips just a little, and then he pauses to think.

“We can’t be facing each other,” Stiles says. “That’s hiding too much.”

Scott nods, agreeing, and Stiles turns off the music so they can walk through a few steps that show the audience the most. It’s decided that Stiles taking off Scott’s trousers will stay, but they’ll need to improvise when to remove Stiles’.

They dress and run through it again, and briefly talk costumes.

“What do you think the others will make of it?” Scott asks.

Stiles shrugs. “What difference does it make?”

“Derek works with us. What if he hates it?”

“Dude,” Stiles says. “You worry too much. We can always rework the routine if he doesn’t like it.”

Scott nods and sits down on the bed. His cock is soft again, though the friction from Stiles’ jeans has left a damp patch on the front of his boxer briefs. He’ll need to change his underwear before they hit the stage later. 

“I texted Danny, by the way,” Stiles says. “He’s been talking about changing up the routine for a while.”

“He should have said something,” Scott frowns.

Stiles slumps onto the bed beside him. “You do realize Derek doesn’t listen to anybody other than you, right?”

“What?”

“He let you share his motel room,” Stiles says. “He has serious trust issues, but he trusts you.”

Scott frowns. “He just didn’t want there to be more fighting.”

“Nope,” Stiles says. “He thinks you’re a good dude.”

“Maybe it’s because I don’t pry into his personal life,” Scott says, and Stiles digs a finger into his ribs until he falls back, laughing. 

“That family has got issues,” Stiles says. “Not my fault I’m curious.”

Scott frowns. “I don’t know why we didn’t figure it out earlier.”

“Figure what out?”

“Derek and Cora are the same Hales as the Hale fire.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles says. He flops back onto the bed too, so that his head is beside Scott’s. “We’re idiots.”

“Cora had to tell me,” Scott commiserates. 

Stiles laughs. “I bet she loved that.”

“Be nice about it,” Scott says.

“I’m always nice.”

“Liar,” Scott says, still smiling.

He fumbles around ‘til he can find Stiles’ hand, and wraps his own around it, their fingers tangled together.

He doesn’t know how to put this into words, but it’s something. 

“How long do you think the others will be?” Stiles asks.

Scott shrugs. “Family shit is weird like that.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” Stiles asks.

“Fuck yes,” Scott says, and that’s how they spend two hours watching Clueless on Stiles’ battered laptop. It’s Lydia who knocks on their door when the others are back - Scott has suspicions she was hoping to eavesdrop - and they head out for dinner and then onto the bar.

“You can have a few drinks,” Cora says, as they bypass the queue and give their names to the bouncer. “You’re not on for an hour or so. Just go easy.”

“We’ll be professional,” Stiles promises. Cora rolls her eyes. 

“Lydia’s going to record it,” she says. “So that you can watch it back and decide if there are bits you want to keep in your routine.”

“Good idea,” Scott says.

Lydia smiles. “It is, isn’t it?”

“No shots,” Derek warns. Stiles grins at him, entirely too wide, and Scott feels something like dread weighing down his stomach. He doesn’t want a repeat of two nights ago, he doesn’t want drama and chaos and being too drunk to know what he’s doing. 

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Scott promises Derek. The bar isn’t too crowded, it’s still early yet. “Got any song ideas?”

Derek nods. “I’ll surprise you,” he says. “I’ll go talk to the DJ.”

Scott smiles, but he doesn’t get to say anything else before Stiles tugs him by the wrist away from Derek, through the crowd. 

“We need to warm up,” Stiles shouts, the music swelling over his words as they venture onto the dance floor. He’s wearing a cheeky grin and he changed into a mesh tank top before they left the motel, and he looks sexy as hell. It’s a different kind of sexy than he looked when Scott had his mouth on him - it’s more artificial, more chosen - but it’s still incredible. Scott’s sure the crowd will eat it up. 

Stiles’ hand is sticky with sweat around his wrist, the heat from the club making Scott’s shirt stick to his chest, too. “We can drink later,” Stiles yells. “Dance first.”

Scott grins. Stiles’ enthusiasm is infectious, it always is - though his enthusiasm about dancing is definitely more fun than his weird phases in high school - and he looks utterly fuckable in the glittering lights.

Scott doesn’t know if he’ll be able to control himself once he gets on stage. It’s hard enough here, in the crowd. He doesn’t know when Stiles stopped but suddenly they’re pressed against each other, and Scott can feel the heat of Stiles’ body as they grind together. He hooks his chin on Stiles’ shoulder and presses kisses to the side of his neck, soft ones that won’t leave a mark, and Stiles tips his head back, clearly enjoying himself. His arms snake down Stiles’ front, tracing his hard abs and reaching his groin before he draws back. Stiles’ hips thrust back, a moment of friction against his groin, and the lights seem to dim for a moment.

He can’t go on stage with his dick rock hard in his pants. That’s not an option.

Stiles turns his head to meet Scott’s lips, and Scott doesn’t care who might see them, he loses himself in the kiss. The thud of the bass seems to amplify his racing heart and the heat of the crowd makes every moment of skin on skin feel like he’s being set alight.

“We haven’t got long,” Scott says. He knows, okay, that Stiles can feel his dick pressing against his ass. It’s not easy to ignore. 

“At least buy me a drink first,” Stiles says, with a grin and another one of those sly winks, and Scott hates him a little. 

“Dick,” Scott says. It feels so natural to move from sexual teasing and wanting to see Stiles on his knees again to their usual friendly jokes. It shouldn’t be that natural, Scott’s pretty sure. There should be boundaries.

He has no idea how to set boundaries. 

There isn’t time for more touching or kissing or anything, anyway, because the DJ makes the announcement and the two of them have to make their way through the crowd to the stage. They meet Derek there and they take a brief few moments to talk about what they’re going to do. Scott can feel excitement growing in his gut, apprehension building as he climbs the steps to the stage.

Stripping feels like more than just a job, for once. It’s always been a fun job, sure, but it feels... thrilling, now.

The music starts to play and Scott can’t help but grin when he recognizes the song. It’s one of the first he and Derek danced to, back when they’d been new at the club, and it feels familiar and new all at once to be doing it on this stage with no planned routine.

The lights come up on them, and they’re all standing in a row and somehow Derek is between Scott and Stiles, which can’t be right. There’s a few beats of stillness and then Derek takes a few steps forward. He looks more uncertain on stage than Scott has ever seen him, and he almost wishes Lydia hadn’t made the lights so bright.

He starts moving his hips to the music and then he sheds his tank and suddenly everything feels a little more natural again, and Scott starts to dance. None of them oiled or prepared properly for this performance, and it all feels a little raw and unfinished - exactly the way he expected it to - and suddenly he and Stiles are close again, dancing like they were on the dance floor but it’s so much more of a performance.

It feels like an act, and Scott’s not sure he’s comfortable with that.

He jerks his hips in a rhythm with Stiles - it’s a little clumsy but it works - and Stiles’ hands creep up his bare chest. He loses control a little when Stiles tweaks a nipple but Stiles moves with him as his hips jerk. It’s all so smooth and to the rhythm of the music and Scott kind of hates Stiles for making it work. 

Scott keeps an eye on Derek as he dances with Stiles. Derek’s not moving as smoothly as he normally does, and Scott has to wonder if he gets some comfort from having the routines prepared in advance, especially since Danny usually helps him come up with the moves. Soon, they’ve shed more of their clothes and it feels so... free.

Not that Scott’s a nudist. He doesn’t mean it in that way. Maybe it’s the improvising, or the way that Stiles is wrapped around him in front of a fresh new audience, but it feels like it’s fun again. 

By the time the music reaches it’s crescendo they’re standing there in just their briefs and Scott wishes he’d applied some body glitter before getting on stage because he feels oddly under dressed. Still, they’re shining under the lights - and Lydia’s done some masterful work during their performance - and Scott’s breathing hard from the exertion, Stiles’ chest rising rapidly too.

He hopes the other two have enjoyed this as much as he has, though when he glances over at Derek his shoulders seem stiff and his hips not as smooth as they usually are. That said, Cora is in the crowd somewhere, or maybe the lighting booth with Lydia, and he can’t imagine stripping in front of someone he’s related to.

Even if he’s known Stiles since they were four years old, that relationship is different. It has to be, given that he’s had Stiles’ dick in his mouth. 

There are bills scattered about the stage, and as the DJ moves into the next song it becomes more relaxed, more of their usual stripping routine. Stiles disappears to the opposite end of the stage to shake his ass for tips. The club manager only gave them two songs and it’d be nice to make some money to pay for the bill when the van broke down, so even though it feels just as dull and lifeless as every shift at the club in Beacon Hills, Scott gets on with it.

He hopes their last song made Stiles feel as invigorated as he did. It’s just a job, it’s just for the money, but Scott knows Stiles feels the pressure more than the rest of them do. Scott’s saving up for grad school and he can take as long as he needs to do that - he’s pretty happy picking up shifts at Deaton’s when he can for the experience and stripping to make ends meet - but Stiles is trying to look after his dad. The sheriff had been crushed under medical bills after he retired and Stiles had been determined to help out, even if it meant taking his clothes off for money. 

Scott wants to make sure Stiles enjoys this, as fucked up as it is. They’re in their twenties, they should be having the times of their lives. It’s the start of everything. Stiles has plans too, once he’s earned enough to make sure his dad’s looked after, but sometimes after a long shift Stiles admits that he can’t see anything else for him than this and it breaks Scott’s heart a little. 

Stiles was so bright in school, Scott remembers. He was the bright spot in the dark parts of Scott’s life, getting pushed around the locker room and never making it off the lacrosse bench. If Scott weren’t saving up for something himself he’d gladly split his tips with Stiles, but he has to prioritise.

And Derek?

Scott has no idea what to make of Derek. He doesn’t know what Derek does outside of work, aside from scowl at him when they’re both at the grocery store at the same time. He doesn’t know if Derek plans to do this forever, or if Derek has another job. 

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen to them all when they get back to Beacon Hills. It just seemed like a fun road trip, a way to make an extra lump sum. Scott and Stiles are trying to plan for the future, and they need savings to do that.

But this trip might have changed everything, at least between the two of them. 

The tips are coming in, at least, and Scott has bills tucked in his underwear. The music fades out and the lights drop and he sweeps up as many of the notes as he can before collecting his clothes and disappearing off stage. He stumbles his way to the backstage and finds an empty room to change in, but he only has his jeans on before Stiles barges in.

“Do you think that was okay?” he asks, speaking rapidly, his chest still rising and falling. “Do you think it’ll work for the crowd?”

Scott grins. “Have you counted your tips? This wasn’t even a strip club and they liked it.”

“Do you think Derek liked it?” Stiles asks. He’s frowning now, seeming uncertain.

Scott shrugs. “We’ll watch the video and talk about it. I’m more excited about having gas money, dude.”

Stiles grins. He’s still standing there in his briefs, and he must have worked up a bit of a sweat because he’s practically glowing in the dim light in the dressing room. 

“Put some clothes on,” Scott says, turning away to tug a t-shirt over his head. He can’t keep staring at Stiles, not when they have work to be doing. Not when he doesn’t know what happens next. 

“Pfft,” Stiles says. “You’re enjoying the view. That’s allowed, y’know.”

“Stiles,” Scott says, his voice soft. “What about after we get back?”

“What about it?”

Scott looks up at the ceiling, trying not to look at Stiles. “We live together,” he says. He pauses, grits his teeth. “We don’t share a bedroom.”

“We could,” Stiles says easily. “It would be just like when we were kids.”

Scott shoves his feet in his shoes and makes for the door. “I’m going to find Derek, we’ve got a lot to get done tomorrow.”

Stiles grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door and close to him. It’s not as close as they were when they were dancing, but it still feels intimate in the dimly lit room. 

It doesn’t help that Stiles is barely clothed.

“We’re supposed to be communicating,” Stiles says, his eyes wide and sincere.

Scott wrinkles his nose. “Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t do the puppy thing,” Stiles says. “Please,” he drags out the syllable in a long whine.

Reluctantly, Scott’s cheeks lift in a smile. “I just... we have to remember there’s an after.”

“An after?”

Scott shrugs, not willing to meet Stiles’ eyes. “I’ve touched your dick, dude.”

“We shared baths when we were like, 8,” Stiles says.

Scott rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not the point.”

Stiles’ hand tightens just slightly around his wrist, the bones in his fingers cracking.

“Can’t we just enjoy the ride?” he says. His voice goes low on ride, and Scott wants to shudder, wants to drop to his knees in front of Stiles.

He doesn’t.

“We can do that,” he says softly, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “But we have to think about after.”

Stiles’ Adams apple bobs as he swallows, and then he looks away, dropping his hand from Scott’s wrist.

“I’ll meet you back at the motel, okay?” he says.

“You don’t want to stay and drink?” Scott asks, brow wrinkling.

Stiles shrugs. “Long day tomorrow, you said. You can stay, if you want.”

“This isn’t talking about it, Stiles,” Scott says. 

“Dancing with me was fun, right?” Stiles asks. He tugs on his jeans over his briefs and Scott can’t help but think that Stiles looks uncomfortable in his presence. Not mad, like he was before, but uncomfortable, which is something very different.

“Yeah,” Scott says. “It’s always fun.”

“You want to perform it to the world,” Stiles says. “Right?”

“The world is pretty ambitious,” Scott says. “Florida would do.”

Stiles shrugs. “We’re dancing. We’re fucking. The whole world is going to know.”

“Derek doesn’t even know,” Scott says. He doesn’t understand - he doesn’t know what Stiles is getting at, or where this sudden change in mood has come from. 

Stiles points a finger. “Exactly,” he says. “Exactly. When people find out - you’re right. It’ll drag it out.”

“Drag it out?”

Stiles’ eyes go wide and he blinks slowly. “I mean-”

Scott waits.

“We won’t have a clean ending,” he says quietly. He looks a little ashamed, colour high on his cheeks.

Scott folds his arms across his chest. “I didn’t know we needed one,” he says.

“You’re my best friend,” Stiles says. “For decades, dude.”

“I’m not going to say nothing is going to change,” Scott says. 

Stiles shrugs. “We should have had this conversation earlier.”

“Before you kissed me,” Scott says softly. “And then you got on your knees.”

Stiles blinks at him, eyelashes fluttering. “Jesus,” he says.

Scott grins.

“Are you still going to go home?” he asks. “You don’t have to.”

Stiles lifts one shoulder up slowly and then drops it again. “I don’t really want to dance in front of people that have just seen me perform.”

“Sure,” Scott says. “I bet Derek will agree. Late night kebab?”

Stiles grimaces but nods, and then they’re back out in the loud club and everything feels okay, a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, again. Good news, though, I'm getting back into writing and stuff so it's all good. 
> 
> Comments are hugely appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

They slept curled together the previous night, and Scott can taste the kebab in his mouth in the morning. They must have fallen asleep with the tv still on, Scott thinks, because the title credits for Mission Impossible are looping, muted. 

They’d originally planned to arrive at the venue today, building in two days for getting their set together and a little bit of leeway in case of travel problems, but when the van broke down it set them back and now they won’t arrive til tomorrow morning, only a day before their performance. They’ve got to really nail it down today, and Scott’s regretting a little suggesting they scrap their routine. 

It seemed like a good idea at the time. 

He scrubs his face and dresses. They’d counted their tips last night and now they’re stacked in nice piles on the dresser. Scott fantasizes briefly about using the money to pay for a slightly nicer motel for their last night on the road, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind. In spite of the moldy showers, the money could be used for better purposes.

Like vet school. 

He’s been stripping for two years, he can’t forget about the end goal. He doesn’t want to get stuck in a rut in this life. He doesn’t want to be 40 and wondering what happens next.

He doesn’t want that for Stiles, either, but fixing that is more complicated. 

“Ugh,” Stiles groans.

“Morning,” Scott says easily, tugging on his jeans. “We’ve got to hit the road in like, a half hour.” 

Stiles groans louder. 

“You weren’t up that late,” Scott says. “We didn’t even finish the movie.”

Stiles shoots Scott a dark look. “You got to be hungover and grumpy for a full 24 hours.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “We weren’t even drinking last night.”

Stiles buries his head in his pillow. “Less talking, more sleeping.”

Scott picks up his pillow and launches it at Stiles’ head. Eventually, Stiles gets up, takes a leak, and puts some clothes on, and by the time he’s packed and ready to go Scott’s made a coffee and packed his stuff in the back of the van.

“What’s the plan for today?” Stiles asks, rubbing his eyes in the sunlight as they meet Derek, Cora, and Lydia by the van.

“I’m driving,” Cora says, spinning the keys around her thumb. “You three are going to sit in the back and go over last nights video while Lydia directs.”

“You don’t get carsick, do you?” Lydia says, smirking.

Stiles wrinkles his nose. 

“Will we get a chance to practise?” Scott asks.

Cora quirks her brows. “Lydia’s got us a lunch booking with a room rental. It doesn’t have a sound system, but we’ll make do.”

“Impressive,” Scott says.

Stiles frowns. “Did you do this after getting back last night?”

“Even drunk I’m incredibly organized,” Lydia says. “Now get in the van. We’ve got a deadline.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and climbs in the back. Scott sits alongside him in the middle, holding the tablet Lydia passes him tightly, and Derek on his other side. It doesn’t take long before the van is cruising smoothly on the freeway and Scott taps away at the tablet until he finds the video from last night.

“Turn the volume way down,” Lydia says. “There was a lot of crowd noise, you won’t get anything useful.”

Scott obliges, and then he hits the play button. The camera’s a little shaky at first, and it’s really dark, but then Lydia’s lights come up and you can see the three of them on stage. It’s obvious at first that this was a new stage and they weren’t totally comfortable, but then the music builds momentum and they get into the rhythm of it.

Scott’s not sure he can handle watching Stiles put his hands all over him like that. 

It happens though, and Scott’s back is against Stiles’ chest and Stiles’ hands are inching toward his crotch and the thudding beat of the music has Derek writhing on the stage.

It works. It’s not perfect, but as a routine, it works. Scott wants to break the pause in conversation, wants to talk about the routine so they’re not all sitting there silently, listening to the tiny music and watching tiny pixellated versions of themselves dance. Only problem is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to start. 

“Parts of it work,” he says cautiously.

“I’m not sure about the track, to be honest,” Stiles says. “It’s a bit dated.”

Derek shrugs. “It was just something to get us improvising. How the crowd reacted is more important.”

“We need a better song,” Stiles insists.

“Okay, dude,” Scott says. “We’ll get a better song. What about the dancing?”

“I enjoyed that,” Stiles says. On screen, his hand is just dipping below Scott’s waistband. Scott rolls his eyes.

“So did the crowd,” Derek says. “It can stay.”

“I think we need to integrate Derek more,” Scott says softly. It does seem awkward, having the two of them together and Derek by himself.

“If Isaac were here, I’d pair the two of them up,” Stiles says.

“No,” Derek says flatly.

“You could dance with Danny?” Scott says uncertainly.

Derek snorts. “Not like you and Stiles dance.”

“There needs to be more interaction. I think that’s why it looks weird,” Stiles says. “We can make this work.”

Scott can’t help but grin a little at Stiles getting fired up about their routine, something he hasn’t seen in far too long. 

“Interaction,” Derek says flatly. 

Stiles snorts. “It’s not torture.”

Scott bumps his shoulder against Derek’s. “We can figure something out with Danny,” he says. “We just want something fresh.”

Derek raises his eyebrows and taps the tablet screen, skipping the video to a point. He hits play and they watch in silence until Stiles does something Scott can’t quite see and his eyes slide shut and his chin lifts and he looks like he’s experiencing pure bliss.

He was, to be fair, but it’s eerie to see it on video.

“That kind of performance is a different kind of license,” Derek says.

Scott can’t help it, he laughs. The conversation drifts into ideas for Danny, for the performance. They start watching youtube videos (and eventually move over to pornhub) for inspiration, pointing out things they think will work.

Before they know it, they’ve arrived at the place Lydia has booked for lunch, which has the room with the practice space. 

“Burgers first,” Stiles says.

“You want to dance on a full stomach?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t want to dance on an empty one.”

Scott grins. “We could split lunch into two?”

“First lunch and second lunch?” Stiles says. He sounds delighted with the concept as Cora parks the van in the relatively empty lot.

“Grab some costumes,” Lydia says, as she opens her door. “Think of this as a dress rehearsal.”

“We haven’t even figured out a routine yet,” Scott says.

Stiles continues for him: “and we did it in costume last night, anyway?”

Lydia levels them with a glare. “You don’t have a lot of time to get this right, okay?”

“She’s right,” Derek says, his voice level. “We need to figure out costumes.”

“I’m vetoing firefighters,” Stiles announces, jumping out of the van. Scott follows him as he opens the back, tugging the bags with the costumes in toward him. 

Derek shrugs. “I wasn’t a big fan of firefighters, either.”

Scott swallows. “We’ve got the military ones, still.”

“Not them either,” Stiles says.

“Is there anything you will wear?” Derek asks.

Stiles stares at him. “I’m a stripper,” he says. “I literally take my clothes off for money.”

Scott snorts and finds himself smiling fondly at Stiles.

“We’ll just cover you in body glitter and toss you on stage naked,” Derek says flatly. 

Scott outright laughs at that and Derek gives him a tight lipped smile before he tugs the largest of the duffel bags toward himself. “This one is plain black cargo pants and tanks. It’ll work for practice, we can figure out something else with Danny.”

“Isaac usually does costuming,” Stiles says.

Scott shrugs. “He didn’t want to come.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and Derek shoots him a sharp look in a silent exchange that ends with Stiles pouting, and they start toward the restaurant. Lydia directs them to the practice space, so they can dump the duffel bag carrying the costumes, and then they settle at a table Lydia’s booked. They order starters and eat, trying not to rush their food, and then Lydia and Cora remain as they head back to the practice space. 

It’s a large, drafty room, with a theatre stage at the front. It looks a little decrepit, so they decide they’ll practice in the hall space, while all the seats are cleared to the side. Scott sets up the sound system and picks a track at random - he has a whole playlist for this stuff - and then joins the other two where they stand in the same arrangement as the previous evening.

There’s a bit more planning to this routine, not as much just going with it as there was night before. It still feels a little awkward, and there’s definitely moments were Derek needs Danny alongside him, but for the most part it’s okay. 

The song finishes and Scott’s breathing hard, Stiles panting alongside him. At least he doesn’t have a boner this time. The next song on the playlist starts playing and Derek’s brow furrows.

“We really need to pick a song,” he says.

Stiles shrugs. “The moves can work with any song.”

“We should make better moves, then,” Derek says. He doesn’t really stomp over to the sound system, but he comes close, and he hits the off button with a firm click. The hall is silent, the only sound their breathing.

“Second lunch?” Stiles says tentatively.

“We need to talk about this,” Derek says. He tugs chairs from the stacks and drops them to the floor with a clatter. “We want to get this routine right, we need the right song.”

Scott and Stiles glance at each other, but walk over to where Derek is already seated. He’s got his arms folded across his chest and Scott feels a little like that time his mom sent him to group therapy all those years ago.

“What’s the problem, Derek?” Scott asks, as diplomatically as he can. 

“You wanted to change the routine,” Derek says. “Why?”

Scott shrugs. “We go to this convention every year, and every year it’s barely worth the money of the trip. I just wanted to do something different this year.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t think to mention this earlier? Like, before the performance was only three days away?”

Scott bites his lip. “Um. Sorry?”

Stiles snorts softly and throws him a fond look and Scott wants to drown in it. 

“We need to change things up, you’re right,” Derek says. He doesn’t exactly sound happy about it, but Scott’ll take it.

“Peter likes to keep things the same,” Stiles says, as diplomatically as he can. Neither of them like Peter, but he’s Derek’s family, so they try not to mention it. 

“Peter’s not going to be there when we get back,” Derek says quickly, the words tripping over his tongue and catching on his teeth. “I fired him.”

“You fired him?” Stiles asks.

“I own the club,” Derek says, blinking.

Scott feels his jaw drop, and Stiles’ expression is fairly similar to his own. “You own the club? Why the hell do you still perform?” Stiles asks.

Derek glances away, reluctant to answer the question.

“You bought it with inheritance money,” Scott says softly, realising. “Cora said you were punishing yourself.”

“She oversimplifies it,” Derek says. He pauses. “I have to put the work in to make it a good investment.”

It sounds like a lie, but Scott thinks he’ll let it be, for now.

“But you didn’t make the decisions about this trip.”

“Peter handles it. Handled it. Lydia didn’t mention he was stealing money?” Derek says.

Scott frowns. “I guess she really is our manager now.”

“Cora doesn’t know yet,” Derek says. He pauses. “Don’t mention it.”

Scott nods. “I guess... you really are our boss then,” Scott says. He glances sideways at Stiles, who’s been silent throughout the whole exchange. Scott wonders if perhaps he’s still in shock. 

Derek shakes his head. “Not for the dancing part. I don’t want you to think of it like that.”

“So you’re okay with messing with the routine?” Stiles asks.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I am not your boss. Okay? We decided, collectively, to experiment. Alright?”

“Got it,” Scott says, barely fighting back a smile. He can feel the corners of his lips tilting up all the same. 

“So how do we pick a song?” Derek says, trying to get back to the topic at hand. 

Scott shrugs, and glances at Stiles. Stiles opens his mouth, closes it, then opens again. “Pick a song that makes you want to move your hips,” he says.

“All of the songs on the playlist are dance songs,” Derek says. “That’s the whole point of the playlist.”

“Right!” Stiles says. “But we’re thinking too much about the mechanics, the beat and the way we’d move to it. Pick a song you could have sex to.”

He glances at Scott and Scott feels his cheeks pinking up. All he can remember is the throbbing of the bass as Stiles was on his knees in front of him.

“I don’t have a sex playlist,” Derek says.

“Do you do it in silence, with the lights off, and pray for forgiveness afterwards?” Stiles asks.

Derek glares at him.

“Why don’t we just go through that playlist and delete songs we wouldn’t have sex to,” Scott says, trying to broker peace.

“Wasn’t the whole point needing something new and fresh?” Stiles asks. “We’ve danced to all these songs before.”

“What do you suggest, Stiles?” Derek asks. His voice is flat and frustrated, and his arms have returned to their position folded across his chest. 

“I bet Lydia has a good sex playlist,” Stiles says.

Derek pulls a face. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“She’s an adult,” Stiles says. “Get used to it.”

“We can’t ask Lydia for help,” Scott says. “This should come from us.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Dude, no. This isn’t some weird spiritual exercise.”

Scott sticks his tongue out. “We can’t dance to someone else’s sex playlist.”

“Especially not my sister’s,” Derek says. 

“Fine,” Stiles says. “What’s your big plan then?”

“Danny has that DJ friend... he could mix something for us.”

“Not in time,” Stiles says. “And I’m not sure friend is really the right term for their relationship.”

Scott laughs. “Why don’t we just put on the radio and pick the first thing we all like?”

“That could take hours,” Stiles says.

“We’ll be sat in the van for hours,” Scott points out. “We could practice without music for now, get the moves down, and then pick one on the drive.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Derek says slowly.

“Sometimes he has brains,” Stiles says. He sounds a little proud, though, so Scott doesn’t begrudge it too much. 

They spend the next forty five minutes breaking down the moves as much as they can. It’s not a workable routine yet, because they don’t have a song, but it’s something that could easily be pieced into one. Scott tries not to feel a little pleased.

Stiles’ stomach growls loudly - only audible due to the lack of music - and they decide to stop for the day. Derek’s much quicker at getting changed out of the clothes than the two of them, and he takes their orders and heads back to the restaurant for second lunch.

The hall feels much bigger with just Scott and Stiles in it. 

Scott tugs his shorts on again, pulling his tank top over his head, and when he can see again he finds Stiles staring at him oddly intensely.

“You okay?” Scott asks, tugging his ipod from the speaker setup and sticking it in his back pocket.

“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asks.

Scott swallows, and takes a step closer to Stiles. “You’ve never had to ask permission before,” he says quietly. It still seems loud in all that empty space.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, inching closer. “I didn’t want to just launch myself at you, though.”

Scott smiles. “I like when you do that,” he says. “Makes me feel manly.”

Stiles is close enough that Scott can feel his breath, puffs of air against his skin, and his eyes are round and wide. Everything seems much slower than before, though Scott’s heart is hammering beneath his skin.

Stiles’ lips are dry against Scott’s, soft and gentle, and it’s a different kiss to any they’ve shared before. There’s a kindness to it, as Scott wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, and there’s something more to it than just sex.

His mouth opens a little and he can feel Stiles’ body rock solid against his own, and it feels comforting. There’s heat enveloping them like they’re in front of a warm fire. It’s not heat like the heat that had them all over each other, but it’s warm nonetheless.

The word Scott keeps coming back to is comforting.

They break apart and Scott’s lips feel strange and he wants to touch them, make sure they’re really there.

“You still hungry?” Scott asks softly.

Stiles bites his lip and nods, looking down. He glances up through his lashes and darts his head forward to peck Scott on the lips, ever so gently, and then he picks up his bag and starts walking. It takes Scott a minute to collect himself, and then he grabs his things and jogs to catch up.

He feels... strange. Stiles bumps shoulders with him as they enter the restaurant and he doesn’t know what to do with the point of contact. 

“How did it go?” Lydia asks as they reach the table. Scott slides into one side of the booth, Stiles opposite, and Scott tries not to make eye contact.

“We got some moves down, I think,” Stiles says. Derek shrugs beside Scott, but doesn’t say anything.

“Scott?” Lydia says softly.

“Yeah,” he says. “What Stiles said.”

He feels like he’s drifting, completely at sea, even as Stiles’ foot rubs up against his ankle, lifting the hem of his jeans. 

Lydia frowns at him and Scott glances down at the menu, scanning it quickly. The prices seem too high, more than they can afford, but before he can really focus Lydia opens her mouth again.

“You guys didn’t fight again, did you? We just got through this.”

“We’re fine,” Scott says, throwing her a quick smile. He traces his finger down the menu, trying to pick something that doesn’t look terrible.

“Hurry up,” Cora says. “We need to get back on the road.”

“I already ordered for you,” Derek says. 

“Right,” Scott says, blinking. Sure enough, the waitress rounds the corner with three steaming plates balanced on her arms and stops at their table. She sets them out and Scott takes a whiff of his food and feels his stomach rumble. He’s sure the conversation is going on around him as he tucks into his gourmet burger, but he’s using the food as an excuse not to participate.

Stiles’ foot is still rubbing insistently at Scott’s ankle, and it’s driving him a little insane. He takes a bite of the burger and chews on it thoughtfully, listening to the soft hum of Cora and Lydia’s voices, Derek intervening occasionally, and then slowly he runs the toe of his shoe up the side of Stiles’ leg. He does it very slowly, inch by inch, and the way Stiles is reacting tells him this is a good move.

Stiles raises his eyebrows at Scott across the table and Scott pretends not to notice, focusing on his burger.

“Scott?” Lydia says, voice cutting through the background noise. “I asked you a question.”

“Sorry,” Scott says quickly. He puts the burger down and wipes his mouth, and Stiles uses the opportunity to rub his foot further up Scott’s leg, above the knee and inching up his thigh. “What was it?” he says, though forming words isn’t easy.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Jesus, you’re useless this afternoon. I asked about costuming. It’ll affect the lighting. Are you going to buy something new when we get there?”

Scott shakes his head, glancing across at Derek. “I don’t think we have the budget for that,” he says. He almost gasps aloud when Stiles presses his toe into his crotch.

“So you’re going to want to modify your current costumes, make them work,” Lydia says. “Danny any good with a needle?”

Stiles snorts. “Danny was fired from the props team in high school,” he tells Lydia, and briefly the pressure on Scott’s groin relents. 

“He only joined because he had his eye on someone in the play,” Scott points out.

Stiles shrugs. “He’s not going to help with costumes.”

“We should have brought Peter,” Cora says. Stiles pulls a face at mention of Peter’s name and Scott tunes out the conversation again, picking up his burger.

His lips are still tingling a little from Stiles’ kiss and he hasn’t figured out what it means yet.

There’s soft bickering about Peter’s use - Derek thinks Isaac’s better at costume design, anyway - but Scott ignores it, inches his foot further up Stiles’ leg. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He can’t figure it out.

He thinks he might want to keep doing this forever. It’s so easy, so simple.

Stiles is his best friend.

He’s also maybe the most beautiful person Scott’s ever seen. 

His eyes keep drifting across to Stiles, even though he’s trying to catch up on the conversation he’s missed between Lydia and Derek. Stiles just draws his attention in a strangely magnetic way.

He never used to before, Scott thinks, and that thought makes him a little uncomfortable.

“We can stick with the cargo pants,” Stiles is saying, when Scott brings himself back to the conversation. He stuffs the burger in his mouth, not wanting to get involved in the costuming conversation he knows he’ll be dragged into.

“It’s supposed to be fresh,” Derek says. “We’ve used those costumes a hundred times.”

“They’ve worked a hundred times,” Stiles says. He looks at Scott, as if waiting for him to speak. Scott swallows hastily and stares blankly at him. 

“No, Derek’s right,” Scott says. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and Lydia grimaces. “We should do something new.”

“Where’s the budget for that?” Stiles says. 

Scott glances between Stiles and Derek. “We can figure it out,” he says. “Maybe use some pieces from other costumes.”

“Something is definitely weird about you,” Cora says, frowning at him. Scott takes a bite of his burger instead of answering, but it’s the last bite so he can’t use that tactic again.

“He’s fine,” Stiles says. “Just let him eat.”

Cora raises her eyebrows. “Hurry up, we need to get on the road. You can have your costume debate in the van.”

“Yay,” Derek says flatly. “Are you driving again?”

“I am,” Lydia says.

“No way,” Stiles says, as Scott starts shaking his head.

“Have you been in a car with her?” Scott asks Cora. “She’s insane.”

“I’m not insane,” Lydia says, her voice turning clipped.

“Insane,” Stiles says, emphasizing. “She swerves around little old ladies on the crosswalk.”

“That happened once,” Lydia says. “I was running late!”

“Because you got pulled over for speeding,” Stiles says.

Lydia folds her arms across her chest and scowls, but Cora, beside her, looks like she’s fighting back a smirk.

“I’ll drive,” Cora says. “Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands.”

“Cora crashed her first car,” Derek says. He looks a little proud of her as he says it, and Cora shoots him a dirty look.

“Why aren’t I allowed to drive?” Stiles asks.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Isaac said not to let you.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, brow furrowing.

Scott smiles at him and Stiles’ expression softens and it really does feel amazing that Scott can just... do that.

Maybe it means that Stiles feels it too, whatever this is. 

He finishes off his fries and Stiles asks the waitress for the check, and then all five of them count their cash on the table to split the bill. Eventually, they make it back to the van and Cora slides behind the wheel, throwing a fierce look at Derek like she’s daring him to say something.

Scott, Stiles, and Derek all pile in the back of the van as Lydia slides in the front, and soon they’re on their way to the interstate. Lydia and Cora are bickering up front about the best way to get to the next stop, and Scott wants to sleep. Badly.

He has a feeling that the moment he closes his eyes Stiles is going to start running his hand up Scott’s thigh again, though, and he’s too on edge for that. It doesn’t feel right, not after that sweet kiss they just shared.

They take off their clothes for a living, sexual relationships shouldn’t be this complicated. 

“Pick a radio station,” Scott tells Derek, Lydia’s iPad on his lap. He taps away and Lydia turns off the CD player up front.

“Internet radio?” she says, wrinkling her nose as she leans over the front row of seats. “How quaint.”

“We’re looking for a backing track,” Stiles says. “Something we haven’t used before.”

“New and fresh?” Lydia asks. “You don’t want to listen to the radio for that.”

“You have a suggestion?” Stiles says.

Lydia shrugs. “Ask someone who actually knows about music.”

“We dance to music for a living,” Derek says. 

“He’s got a point,” Cora says. Lydia squints at her. 

“Peter picks the tracks,” Scott says quietly. 

“Ew,” Cora says, eyes still on the road. 

“All of you think of two tracks you’d be happy to dance to,” Lydia says. “Write them down and stick them in a hat.”

“Do youtube related videos,” Cora says, voice flat and even. “Find a song that all of you agree on and then check out similar videos.”

“There are too many options,” Stiles says, scowling.

Lydia smirks and turns around to face the front. “You’re on a deadline,” she reminds them, and Stiles makes a disgusted noise.

It isn’t long before he and Derek are flicking through youtube videos on the tablet, but Scott preoccupies himself with looking out the window, only turning when he catches an elbow to the rib.

“What do you think of this one?” Stiles asks before he hits play, and something poppy and synthetic fills his ears.

Scott wrinkles his nose. “It’s a bit cheesy,” he says. He wonders what that says about what’s going on in Stiles’ head, if it had been his pick.

He doesn’t want to think about what’s going on in Stiles’ head, but he does, he really does. 

“It’s not sexy enough,” Derek says. “It’s not music you would fuck to.”

“I don’t have a sex playlist,” Stiles says.

Scott raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t Gangnam Style come on while you were in bed with someone once?”

“It was fine,” Stiles says.

“He never called you back,” Scott reminds him.

Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“Focus,” Derek says, and Scott clears his throat. 

Scott taps on the screen of the tablet, picking a song title he doesn’t recognize, and waits for youtube to catch up.

It starts slow, with heavy bass, but it quickly picks up speed. The vocals are understated, nothing that would distract the audience, and Scott thinks it might just be perfect. 

“This works,” Stiles says. Lydia agrees from the front, but doesn’t join the conversation. Derek is frowning.

“Do we want to use a song that’s totally unknown?” he asks.

Scott shrugs. “They’re not there to sing along.”

“Pick a fucking song already,” Cora says, tapping her hands impatiently on the steering wheel. 

“Alright,” Derek says. “This one.”

“Sweet, I’ll text Danny,” Stiles says, tapping away at his phone as the song finishes. 

“He likes this stuff,” Lydia says. “Hey, has anyone checked in with Isaac?”

It takes Scott a moment before he realises everyone (except Cora) has turned to look at him.

“I haven’t texted him,” Scott says. “Why would I?”

“Derek likes to pretend he doesn’t care and Stiles is an asshole,” Lydia says. Stiles makes a noise of reproach. 

“He’s on holiday,” Scott says. “He doesn’t want me bothering him.”

“He’s on holiday all by himself in Beacon Hills,” Derek says.

“Danny’s there,” Scott says, “and Peter.”

“He’s only friends with you,” Lydia says, like she can’t believe she has to spell it out for him.

Scott frowns. “You guys haven’t met Erica and Boyd?”

“I have,” Derek says quietly. 

“Does Isaac have a secret life none of us knew about?” Stiles says. He sounds excited at the prospect.

“No,” Scott says, “you just don’t listen to a word he says.”

“True,” Stiles says, throwing Scott a smile. Scott tries not to let his cheeks pink up at the sight of Stiles’ dimples, and Stiles’ smile droops, turning to a frown.

“Isaac’s fine,” Scott says dismissively, looking out the window. 

“He wanted to come,” Derek says. 

“What’s the deal with him not wanting to leave the state?” Stiles asks.

“You ask too many questions,” Derek says.

“You really do,” Lydia agrees.

Scott tunes out the conversation, quiet chatter about Isaac and what he might be getting up to while they’re away. Derek proposes they send him a postcard and Scott thinks that’s probably a good idea, though he doesn’t say so aloud.

The landscape around them is changing. They’re getting close to Florida. Something knots in Scott’s belly when he thinks how close they are to the whole trip being over. Next week they’ll go back to their normal lives in Beacon Hills. Scott and Stiles will have separate bedrooms in the apartment they share and they’ll probably never mention what happened between them again. 

“Scott?” Stiles says, and Scott turns his head.

Stiles looks like he’s waiting for him to answer something. “I wasn’t listening,” he says, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Jeez, and I’m the one with ADD.”

“What was the question?” Scott asks.

“Seriously dude, are you okay?” Stiles says, apparently forgetting what he wanted to say to Scott in the first place.

“I’m good,” Scott says firmly, but Stiles’ forehead dips in a frown anyway.

“What are we getting to eat?” Lydia asks, moving the conversation away, but she throws Scott a quizzical look too and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Something veggie,” Cora says. “We’ve eaten too much crap on this trip.”

“Lunch was so good, though,” Stiles says, and soon they’re bickering comfortably about what to eat and Scott can tune them out again. Lydia puts the radio back on and Scott stares out the window until they pull up at the motel. 

“Why don’t we just get takeaway?” he says as he hops out of the van, grabbing his bag from the back. “Have a chilled evening.”

“We’ve got a busy day tomorrow,” Derek says. He sounds like he agrees, but Scott isn’t sure.

“Netflix?” Stiles says, grinning at Scott.

Scott smiles back.

“Works for me,” Cora says.

“How are we splitting up the rooms tonight?” Lydia asks, grabbing her back and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I’ll have my own room,” Derek says. “Scott snores.”

“No he doesn’t,” Stiles says, before Scott can respond.

Derek flashes a grin - Scott thinks he might have just made a joke - and heads to the motel reception to book them in. Scott and Stiles drop backs onto the concrete, unloading everything from the back of the van as has become their routine. Lydia’s got her hands on her hips, watching them, and Cora looks bored leaning against the van.

“I like it when men do all the heavy lifting,” Lydia says. Stiles stands up straight and preens a little, tensing his biceps and striking a pose.

Scott feels something turn in his gut.

“That’s because you’re lazy,” Cora says. “And you like it when they’re not trying to talk to you.”

Lydia laughs, loud and bright, and Stiles’ shoulders droop a little. Scott knows he’ll always have a thing for Lydia, even though the years since it was really a thing have long since passed, but it still stings a little.

He has to remind himself that they haven’t really talked about anything yet. 

Derek returns from the lobby of the motel and chucks them a room key. Stiles catches it easily with one hand, a far cry from his high school days, and the two of them head toward the room they’re going to share.

“You know what we haven’t done in ages?” Stiles says, as he fiddles with the key in the lock. He has to use his shoulder to get the door open, but the room is bright and airy once they make it inside. 

“No,” Scott says, dropping the bags on the floor by the window.

“Gotten stoned together.”

Scott laughs and sits on the bed, kicking off his shoes. “Seriously?”

Stiles shrugs. “We’re having a chilled out evening,” he says. “Let’s get stoned.”

“I didn’t bring any pot,” Scott says.

“It’s a road trip, a bro trip, and you didn’t bring any pot?”

Scott wriggles his toes in his socks. This motel room actually has a not totally hideous carpet. He wonders how much it cost. “It’s a work trip.”

“Scott. Scotty. We’re strippers.”

Scott can’t help it, he smiles at Stiles. “Also, I knew you’d bring some.”

Stiles’ face stays blank for a moment. “Dick,” he says, and then he rounds the bed to rummage through his bag, coming dangerously close to Stiles. 

“We should get food first,” Scott says, kicking Stiles’ leg with his socked foot. 

“I’m meant to be the brains in this operation,” Stiles says, but he grins. “We just need to give Cora our order and she’ll sort it.”

“You gonna share your weed with her in return?” Scott asks, stretching backward on the bed. 

“It’s a bro night.”

“How many times have you said the word bro today?” Scott asks, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers brush the headboard. 

“We haven’t had bro time in ages,” Stiles says.

Scott sits up. “I gave you a blowjob yesterday.”

Stiles smirks. “I remember,” he says, quirking his eyebrows. Scott rolls his eyes in response.

There’s silence. Scott thinks about hunting down the remote for the tiny tv screen set opposite the beds. Stiles is still standing at the foot of the bed, almost over Scott, and Scott doesn’t know what to do about it.

He doesn’t know what to do about any of it.

“Lydia was right, you are being weird,” Stiles says eventually. “What’s up?”

Scott shrugs limply on the bed and Stiles collapses on the other bed beside him. “What happened to actually talking to each other?”

“You kissed me,” Scott says.

He doesn’t know why he says it.

“Yeah,” Stiles says.

“We’re bros,” Scott says. He frowns up at the ceiling. 

Stiles snorts. “It’s just a word. You’re my best friend, dude.”

“Ignore me,” Scott says. “Let’s get stoned.”

He turns his head to look at Stiles, who smooths out his frown as soon as he sees Scott looking.

“Alright, dude,” Stiles says. “So long as you’re not mad at me.”

“Nah,” he says, “not at all.”

He’s more mad at himself than at Stiles, for having these feelings he can’t... untangle. Can’t make sense of, certainly can’t put into words or even decide if he wants to. 

“Good,” Stiles says. He grabs his phone and starts tapping away at it, pausing briefly to ask Scott what kind of food he wants. Scott thinks about showering, or maybe just falling asleep. The day has been strangely exhausting, even though it feels like nothing happened. 

“I might shower,” Scott says. “While we’re waiting for the food.”

“Sure,” Stiles says, waving a hand. He’s staring intently at his phone, jabbing his finger at the screen as he texts, and Scott wonders who he’s talking to. He has to shake off this jealousy, tiny though it is, because it won’t be long before it starts interfering with his and Stiles’ friendship, and that can’t happen. That’s more important than any of this. 

Scott breathes out slowly. He doesn’t move just yet, still watching Stiles typing away.

“Dude,” Stiles says, not looking up, and Scott snorts.

“Sorry,” he says. It doesn’t take him long to get ready for his shower, and the water is hot, even if the pressure is disappointing.

Maybe getting stoned with Stiles will help him figure shit out. Maybe it’ll make more of a mess of things than it already is. It might be a risk Scott has to take, because this uncertainty is exhausting. 

By the time he’s dried off, Cora’s dropped off the food and disappeared. Apparently Stiles didn’t invite her in, or maybe she refused. He pushes a paper plate toward Scott from the tiny motel table, and Scott picks it up and sets it on his bed, sitting cross legged beside it.

“You look sexy with your hair damp like that,” Stiles says, leaning back in his chair.

Scott’s eyes widen and Stiles grins, taking a bite of the sushi. “You just wish you’d joined me in the shower,” he says.

Stiles smirks. “Didn’t realise that was an option.”

Scott shrugs. “We’re having a chilled evening, aren’t we?”

“We can have very very slow sex,” Stiles says, voice turning low and dirty. He’s stopped eating, eyes intent on Scott’s. 

Scott takes a bite of his sushi. “Or we could get stoned.”

“Get stoned and have sex,” Stiles says. He’s grinning now, not as serious, and he starts eating again.

“Bro night,” Scott says.

“Okay, okay, bro night.” Stiles grins, wide and easy, taking another bite. “Pot, a movie, talking about our feelings.”

“Reminiscing about our childhood,” Scott chimes in.

“Right,” Stiles says. “Like that time you pushed me over.”

“You had the best spade!”

“There were other spades,” Stiles says, and Scott can’t help but smile at him. It’s an old argument - the oldest - but it’s a familiar one, and it’s always done with smiles on their faces.

Scott’s mom grew tired of it a long time ago, but Scott’s not sure he ever will.

They trade a few more old inside jokes as they finish their meal and tidy up after themselves, and then Stiles starts rolling a joint. He’s always been better at rolling them, and it’s kind of mesmerising to watch him. Scott can’t help but imagine the other things those fingers can do, the way they looked wrapped around his cock.

He imagines how they’d feel inside him and it’s... something else.

Stiles is oblivious, rolling the joint neatly and putting his pot back in the jar so they don’t stick up the room.

“Where do you want to smoke?” he says.

Scott’s mouth is already dry. 

“Somewhere Cora and Lydia won’t see,” he says. 

“Lydia doesn’t seem like she’s into that.”

Scott raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? She’s screwing Cora, of course she smokes.”

Stiles laughs and stands up, and the two of them make their way to the back of the motel, spliff dangling from Stiles’ fingertips loosely. The sun is beginning to set and the motel is strangely quiet.

Stiles lifts the joint to his lips and lights it, sucking on it. He coughs just slightly as he inhales, and passes it to Scott.

“I wanna blow smoke rings,” Stiles says.

“You’re terrible at them,” Scott says. He inhales, the taste hitting his throat, and passes the joint back to Stiles, exhaling softly. 

They smoke in silence, passing the joint between them as the sun sets. It shouldn’t feel as romantic as it does, particularly since this is defined bro time. The high hits Stiles before it hits Scott. 

“We haven’t really hung out in ages, y’know,” Stiles says, his voice a little slow, his eyes unfocused. 

“We’ve been busy,” Scott says, shrugging. “I’ve been putting in a lot of hours at Deaton’s.”

“We live together, dude, we should make time.”

“What, you want a bro date?” Scott asks. The spliff is half finished now, and with each inhale Scott’s throat feels a little more raw and his heartache feels a little hazier. 

Stiles chuckles softly. “Sure. I just feel like I don’t know what’s going on with you. How’s your mom?”

Scott passes Stiles the joint. “She’s dating again. I haven’t met the guy yet, but she seems happy.”

“That’s cool,” Stiles says. Scott gets the impression he doesn’t actually care that much, he’s just making conversation. The words are small talk, but they feel a little more weighted, somehow. 

Scott keeps making conversation until the joint starts burning their lips, and then they head back inside. Scott feels like his head is made of cotton candy, and when he rests it on his pillow the feeling spreads further down his body. 

“I feel like you’re keeping a secret,” Stiles says distantly, even though he’s right beside him, the single bed is within arms reach. “I feel like we’re keeping secrets.”

“Derek and Lydia don’t know that we’re fucking,” Scott says, staring at the ceiling.

“We’re not fucking,” Stiles says.

Scott turns and blinks at him slowly.

“We just exchanged blowjobs,” Stiles says easily, and Scott starts giggling. Stiles joins in, and the sound of their laughter fills the room and it feels like they’re teenagers again, before college and debt and stripping. Before things got serious and complicated.

Someone bangs on the other side of the wall and Scott tries to stop laughing. The sun has gone down outside, but Scott doesn’t know what time it is. He guesses it must be late, and they must be keeping people awake.

He’s not sure he cares, which is new sort of feeling. 

“Tell me your secret,” Scott says. It feels like they’re children at a sleepover, telling stories with the lights out. He half expects his mom to knock on the door and tell him it’s bed time. 

Stiles swallows, and Scott’s mouth feels a little dry, like maybe Stiles is about to tell him something really scary.

“I got in to grad school,” he says.

Scott frowns. “I didn’t even know you applied.”

Stiles nods. “I didn’t think I’d get in, so I just... didn’t mention it.”

“Dude! That’s awesome. Congrats!”

“I was going to tell everyone after the convention,” Stiles says. “Hand in my notice.”

“How are you gonna pay for it?” Scott asks, because the only reason he isn’t in grad school is he can’t afford it.

“I don’t know yet,” Stiles says. “I’ve got some loan applications in, and I’ve got some savings, and Dad’s doing okay.”

“Shit, Stiles,” Scott says, grinning widely. “Where are you going?”

“UC Davis,” he says.

He pauses. 

“I thought you’d be mad I didn’t tell you.”

“You tell me shit on your own schedule,” Scott says. “Always have.”

“You’re my best friend,” Stiles says softly.

Scott swallows around the lump in his throat. “’course,” he says. 

“Your turn,” Stiles says softly.

“What?”

“Your secret. Whatever’s on your mind.”

“I’m going to miss you,” Scott says, at a volume barely above a whisper. The space between the twin beds suddenly seems immense, the air in the room sparse. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. Scott watches his Adam’s apple bob, and doesn’t say anything.

The silence hangs, until Stiles opens his mouth to speak again. “I won’t be going far,” he says. “And I’ll be back all the damn time, you know it.”

“Gonna miss your rent money, too.”

“You’ll have to put up with Derek at work all by yourself,” Stiles says. 

Scott wrinkles his nose. The thought of working at the club without Stiles there is suddenly very unappealing. 

“Maybe I should quit as well,” he says faintly.

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe,” Scott says. He shuts his eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“I’m not,” Scott says. He opens his eyes and Stiles seems much closer than before. He doesn’t know why he does it - it’s instinctive, maybe - but he reaches out a hand into the space between the beds, stretching his arm.

Stiles watches him, motionless. There are creases at the corners of his eyes and Scott thinks perhaps he’s fighting back a smile. 

He can’t fight it for long, and his face breaks into a smile as he reaches out and... they’re holding hands. They’re holding hands across the valley between the twin beds and Scott feels something that might be joy bubbling up inside him. 

“You want to stop stripping?” Stiles asks. “Do it.”

“Can’t afford to.” He squeezes Stiles hand. 

“What would you be doing if I hadn’t gotten a job at the club two years ago?” 

Scott swallows. He hasn’t allowed himself to think about that since about a month into the job, since he explained to his mom what he was doing for a living and saw the look on her face. 

“Working at Deaton’s and living in a much shittier apartment,” Scott says.

Stiles shrugs. “So move.”

Scott rolls his eyes.

“No,” Stiles says. “Come with me to Davis. We’ll get an apartment, I can do bar work, you can find a new veterinary practice.”

“Living the dream,” Scott says softly.

“And then you can apply to grad school!” Stiles is sounding more and more excited as every word trips out of his mouth. “It’ll be awesome.”

Scott swallows.

He does want to apply to grad school. Vet school has been his dream for so many years it doesn’t feel like it’ll ever really happen, but it could. He’s got some money saved up, he’s got the work experience to put on his application.

“I could,” he says. He doesn’t quite believe the words; they taste strange as they’re shaped on his tongue. 

Stiles hums in agreement. 

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” Stiles says. “But I’ve looked into two bed apartments.”

Scott blinks. Two bed. Because they’re friends, not boyfriends- they’re not together at all. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says. “I don’t even know if anybody needs a vet assistant in Davis.”

“Your resume is very impressive, they’ll want you,” Stiles says assuredly, and Scott smiles at him, squeezing his hand again. 

He likes holding hands with Stiles more than he should. For now, he can pass it off as being stoned and silly, maybe, but that’s not what it really is at all. 

“So this is our last convention weekend,” Scott says.

“Gotta make all my tips for grad school,” Stiles says.

Scott’s been staring into his eyes for so long the colour is starting to lose meaning.

“Me too, I guess.”

“I have one last payment to make on dad’s care bill,” Stiles says. “That’s what I want to do, this weekend.”

“Derek offered you his tips,” Scott says.

“Offered us,” Stiles corrects. “To share.”

“You need it more.”

“I don’t think Cora would let us take it anyway,” Stiles says. “She’s protective.”

Scott hums.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to go from here. 

“I’m tired,” he says, instead of anything of any real substance. 

Stiles doesn’t listen. “Redoing the routine is a really awesome idea,” he says. “If we bring something fresh - if we perform really well - we can make all the money we need.”

“You’ve got big dreams,” Scott says. 

This time, it’s Stiles who squeezes his hand, a broad grin splitting his face in two. “We can do this, Scott. It’ll be so awesome.”

“What about Derek?” 

“He’ll be fine,” Stiles says dismissively. “He’s got Cora, and Isaac.”

“With Peter gone, who’s going to recruit new dancers for the club?”

“Scott,” Stiles says, his voice slow. “You’re not considering sticking with the club out of... guilt, or something?”

“Maybe?”

“I would hit you if I could be bothered,” Stiles says, and Scott laughs. “Nobody will resent you for leaving, I promise.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of Derek,” Scott says.

“You’re too good for stripping,” Stiles says sincerely. 

Scott laughs. 

“No, dude, you literally save puppies!”

“It’s a job and it pays the bills,” Scott says. “We both know that.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Maybe we should try and get Derek out too.”

“Cora said he was punishing himself,” Scott says softly.

“I don’t think we can do a lifetime’s worth of therapy in one weekend,” Stiles says.

“Probably not, no.”

“We don’t have to make a decision right now, anyway,” Stiles says.

“We?” Scott says. His arm is beginning to ache from being stretched between the beds but he’s not willing to let go, not yet. “I thought you’d already decided.”

“I don’t make any decisions without consulting you,” Stiles says softly.

Scott slips his hand out of Stiles’ and something like hurt flashes across his face, visible in the barely-there crease of his eyebrows and the tightness of his lips. 

“You okay?” Stiles asks.

“Tired,” Scott says.

Stiles pauses. “You can talk to me. About anything.”

“Yeah,” Scott says.

Not this, he thinks. He doesn’t think he can talk to anyone about this.

He might be in love with Stiles and he doesn’t know if he can commit to moving to another city with Stiles, starting a new life with Stiles, a life where they’d still be in separate bedrooms leading separate lives.

It doesn’t feel right. He can’t explain why, but it doesn’t feel right. 

“Goodnight, Stiles,” he says, and flicks out the light.

He lies awake in the dark for hours.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three months?? I am SO SORRY.
> 
> Recap: Stiles is going to grad school and quitting stripping and moving to another city! Scott is concerned about what that means for their future - both as friends and with the new developments in their relationship.

The morning is bright and unpleasantly early. Scott’s aware that he must have got a few hours sleep, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. They’re arriving at the convention centre today, and they need to be on the ball to prepare, but Scott just feels bone-tired.

He doesn’t know if he wants it to be over or if maybe he wants the road trip to last forever.

Stiles is fast asleep, even through Scott hitting snooze three times, and Scott has to shake him to get him to wake up.

“We’re going to be late,” Scott says, as Stiles performs a full body jerk.

“I gotta shower,” he grunts, standing, and Scott watches him stagger to the bathroom. 

He doesn’t wait for Stiles before he heads out to load up the van, grunting good morning to the others. Cora’s leaning against the van, bickering easily with Derek, spinning the keys around her fingers.

“You look like shit,” Lydia says.

Scott shrugs, tossing his bag in the back. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Cora makes a sympathetic noise and Scott’s scowl deepens.

“What’s the plan for today?” Stiles asks, rubbing his hands together as he approaches them.

“We should hit the convention centre around noon, then we’ll split up so people can start setting up and someone needs to pick up Danny from the airport,” Derek says.

“I’ll pick up Danny,” Scott volunteers quickly, not meeting Stiles’ eyes. “I can explain the routine and stuff to him on the way back.”

Derek nods decisively, and the conversation is evidently over as people start climbing in the van. 

“How are we splitting rooms at the hotel?” Scott asks. 

“Danny will share with me, unless he’s got an issue with that,” Derek says. He’s driving again today, with Cora by his side, and so it’s Scott, Stiles, and Lydia in the back once more, just like the first day of the trip. Stiles still looks half asleep and Scott just knows that within twenty minutes of them getting on the highway Stiles will be asleep on his shoulder. 

Scott’s mouth feels a little dry at the thought of all of Stiles’ body pressed against his. 

“You think any more about Davis?” Stiles asks quietly, as they pull out of the parking lot. 

Scott swallows. “It’s a lot to think about,” he says.

Stiles nods, and Scott watches him bite the plush pink of his lower lip. “It’s just... I need to know. I’ve got to look at apartments.”

“Give me a couple days,” Scott says. “Let me talk to Derek.”

Stiles licks his lips, a nervous tic Scott hasn’t seen in a long time. He doesn’t usually make Stiles nervous. “’Course,” he says. 

Scott doesn’t know what to say. He’s not prepared for their easy routine to come to an end, for them to stop living and working together. Even without everything that’s happened on the trip, it’s a huge change. He’s not ready for it. 

“You should tell the others anyway,” Scott says. “They deserve to know.”

Stiles nods but doesn’t say anything, and they fall into an uneasy silence. Nobody comments on it, but Cora flips on the radio.

Sure enough, Stiles falls asleep on Scott’s shoulder fifteen minutes later. Every time he exhales, Scott feels a puff of air on his chest, and it makes his heart ache a little. He knows - he already knows, he’s already certain - he can’t agree to move to Davis unless it’s to be with Stiles. He doesn’t think they can ever return to a normal kind of friendship after this, not with the way Scott’s realizing he feels. 

He meets Derek’s eyes in the rear view mirror and Derek looks concerned, his brow furrowed. But the moment lasts barely a second and then Derek’s eyes are back on the road. Scott knows he needs to talk to Derek, explain everything.

Explain that Stiles is leaving, and he might be going with him. 

Vet school has been a dream for so long Scott’s almost forgotten that it could actually happen one day. He likes working with Deaton, being an assistant, but he’s been doing that since he was fourteen, even though he’s been given more responsibilities since he left college. 

“How’s your mom?” Lydia asks conversationally, and Scott’s brought back to the present. He’d forgotten Lydia worked with his mom on occasion, swinging by the radiography department when she wasn’t messing with complicated math formulae. Scott’s not sure why Lydia wants to be the manager of the club on top of all of that, but he’s not going to question it.

“She’s fine,” Scott says. “Busy with work, but she’s got a new boyfriend.”

Scott hadn’t thought about how moving to Davis might affect his mom. She’d probably be really proud of him, finally pursuing the career he’s wanted since middle school. He doesn’t know what she’d think of the Stiles thing - or what the sheriff would think, or any of their friends, really. He doesn’t even know what he thinks of the Stiles thing.

Maybe if he wants to date Stiles he shouldn’t live with him. Maybe they should instil boundaries in their friendship, for the first time ever. 

Lydia’s saying something but Scott isn’t listening and he’s pretty sure Lydia doesn’t care, otherwise she would have stopped talking. He stares out the window, feeling the weight of Stiles’ head on his shoulder, and trying to convince his brain to stop wandering down dangerous paths. Paths that involve ending his friendship with Stiles, or something equally terrible. 

It’s barely lunchtime when they arrive at the hotel that’s been organized for them. The convention centre is right next door and the whole place feels exactly like it did last year, and the year before that. 

Scott feels a flutter of nerves as they unload the van, taking all of the props and costumes to Derek’s room before they check into their own rooms. 

“This is nicer than the motels,” Stiles says, bouncing up and down on the bed. They’ve got a double each, and Scott drops his bags on the one Stiles isn’t on. He doesn’t want to assume they’ll end up sharing. He doesn’t want to assume anything.

He swallows. He doesn’t know what he wants.

Stiles starts flipping through tv channels and fiddling with the a/c settings, and Scott is saved from having to make conversation by a knock on the door. 

Derek’s dangling the keys to the van between his fingers when Scott opens the door. “Ready to go pick up Danny?”

Scott swallows, glances back into the room, and nods. “Sure,” he says. He sticks the hotel keycard in his wallet and shuts the door behind him, barely bothering to say goodbye to Stiles.

It all feels too much, suddenly. The hotel room is larger than any of the previous ones, but it suddenly feels too small, suffocating. 

“Stiles got into grad school,” Scott says, sliding into the passenger seat. “He’s going to hand in his notice when we get back.”

Derek grunts. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Scott shrugs and Derek pulls out of the parking lot. The radio isn’t on, for the first time in days, and the airport is well-sign posted enough that they don’t need directions. It’s just quiet. 

“Talk to me,” Derek says, after a long sigh. “What’s up?”

“He asked me to go with him,” Scott says quietly. “Quit stripping, move to Davis, apply for vet school.”

“Are you going to?”

“I’m not just going to quit on you,” Scott says. It’s a throwaway line but it feels like a promise, too.

“You don’t owe the club anything,” Derek says. “It’s always been a pause while you get money together, right?”

“It turned into a longer pause than I thought it would,” Scott says, turning to look out the window. “I’ve probably got enough money to go already.”

“You stuck around for Stiles,” Derek says.

Scott doesn’t say anything.

“He’s your best friend,” Derek continues, and Scott appreciates that he doesn’t point out what’s really going on. “It’s understandable he should affect your decisions. Why not go with him?”

“I don’t know. It’s a big decision.”

Derek hums, pulling into the long queue for the airport parking lot. The drive was even shorter than Scott remembers from last year, and he’s actually pretty grateful that the conversation has been cut short. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Derek repeats. “We’ve got Danny and Isaac and we probably need some fresh blood anyway.”

“Losing two dancers at once would probably upset the regulars,” Scott says. He’s keeping his voice a flat monotone. He doesn’t want to stay, not really. He just doesn’t want to leave either. 

“We can stagger it,” Derek says. “Or make it some big event, draw in a crowd. Say you and Stiles are running away together, make it a romantic story.”

“Romance doesn’t make people want lapdances,” Scott says, wrinkling his nose.

Derek sighs. “Yeah, there’s a reason Peter handles marketing. Handled.”

“Lydia could come up with something, I’m sure,” Scott says. “You’re going to bring her on full-time, aren’t you?”

Derek frowns. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“How much running of the club do you actually do?”

The queue moves forward in a lurch, and Derek revs the engine. “Not much at all, to be honest. It was meant to just be a nightclub, but then Peter got involved.”

“Cora didn’t put a stop to it?”

“She wasn’t around then,” Derek says. Scott knows Derek well enough now to stop asking questions. 

“She can help out now,” Scott offers.

Derek doesn’t say anything. 

The queue is moving gently forward, and Scott’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket. 

“Danny,” he says to Derek, hitting the green button to answer the call.

“Hey, I’m out by the arrivals exit,” Danny says.

“We’re queuing for the parking lot,” Scott says. 

“Sweet,” Danny says. “Was there road trip drama?”

Scott opens his mouth, then closes it again, and after a brief pause Danny’s laugh fills his ear. “Fill me in on the ride back to the hotel.”

Scott groans. “Fine,” he says. Danny snorts and hangs up, and the traffic shuffles forward again. They’re finally at the entrance of the parking lot. 

“We’ll miss you,” Derek says softly, turning on his indicator. “But don’t let that hold you back. You’re too smart to be a stripper forever.”

“That’s not what you said when you hired me,” Scott mutters, and Derek laughs.

“I knew you were going to leave eventually,” Derek says. “Everyone does.”

Scott frowns. “We can still keep in touch,” he says. “We’re still friends.”

“Stiles is lucky to have you,” Derek says.

“Stiles doesn’t have me,” he says, voice cutting short. “It’s not like that.”

There’s a brief silence as Derek steers the van into a parking space and throws on the handbrake. “You want it to be,” Derek says softly.

Scott swallows.

“I’m going to go find Danny,” he says, exiting the van as rapidly as he can. He barely gets his feet on the ground, though, before he hears Danny’s cheery voice.

“Hey, McCall,” Danny says. “Took you long enough.”

“Look around,” Scott says, “traffic is shit.”

Danny claps him in a hug and tosses his bags in the back seat.

“So the routine has changed,” Danny says, leaning against the car.

“We’ll walk you through it,” Scott says. “We just wanted something fresh.”

Danny narrows his eyes. “And what other drama was there?”

“Isaac’s piece of crap van broke down,” Scott says.

He’s avoiding. He knows he’s avoiding.

Danny doesn’t say anything, still holding Scott’s gaze. “You and Stiles hooked up.”

Scott splutters, feeling his cheeks go warm. “How the hell do you do that, dude?”

“Sixth sense,” Danny says, tapping the side of his nose. “You can tell me about it on the way back to the hotel.”

Danny slams the door to the back seat and Scott climbs back in the front, beside Derek. He’s at least grateful he won’t have to meet anyone’s eyes during this conversation.

“Have the kids been super annoying?” Danny asks Derek.

“We’re the same age,” Scott tells Danny.

“We handled it,” Derek says easily, throwing the van into reverse and joining a different queue - this time, for the exit.

“Does he know?” Danny says, to Scott. “Does everyone know?”

“We’re not talking about it,” Scott says.

There’s a brief silence. 

“Fair enough,” Danny says.

“They refused to talk to each other for a full 24 hours,” Derek says, his voice flat. “Scott had to share my room.”

Scott can feel his cheeks growing even warmer. 

“It was fine,” Scott says quietly.

“Yeah,” Derek says, his tone agreeable. “It was fine.”

There’s silence from the back seat. Then: “you’re going to be insufferable today, aren’t you?”

“We’ve got a routine to work on,” Scott says. 

Danny sighs heavily as the queue begins to move, and it’s not long at all before they’re back at the hotel.

“We’ve got one of the conference rooms booked in an hour,” Derek says. “You can relax until then.” 

He tosses a room key at Danny and locks the van behind him, and the three of them head for the looming hotel entrance. Scott doesn’t know what he’ll say when he sees Stiles.

He doesn’t know how to make this decision.

Danny and Derek fall into step, discussing costumes, if anything needs changing, and Scott remembers that he was meant to explain the new routine to Danny on the way back. He’s sure Derek’s got it covered, to be fair. Maybe he’ll grab a coffee before he heads to the conference room, spend some time alone.

He’s avoiding his own hotel room. It’s pathetic.

As if Stiles knows he’s thinking about him, Scott’s phone buzzes with a text from him. 

Taking your time at the airport?

Scott frowns down at the screen, waving a vague hand at Danny and Derek as he heads to the café in the hotel foyer. 

Getting coffee. Meet you at the cafe in 20?

The response he gets is a simple affirmative, and now he has 20 minutes free for himself, to think about what he wants to do.

To think about the mess he’s made. Stiles is leaving, walking away from the town they grew up in, and Scott wants so badly to chase after him, pretend like they have some great romance.

He doesn’t think their friendship could survive that. If Scott followed him, hoping for some happy ending and then all he gets is separate beds in a shitty apartment, far away from all of their other friends.

He didn’t really think the day would ever come when either of them would be ready for grad school, ready to move on with their lives. It felt like such a pipe dream, with all their other responsibilities coming first, and now Stiles was ready to take that step and it felt like Scott was falling behind.

Stiles would move on in other ways, too. He’d forget all about their dirty road trip secret and date someone, fall in love with them. Scott could see it all playing out in his head.

Either way it happened, Scott ended up alone.

He orders plain black coffee, because it was the only kind he knew Stiles wouldn’t try to sneak sips of. He chooses a window seat, rather than the booths Stiles’ prefers, because if nothing else he doesn’t want Stiles’ hand on his knee. 

He hates that even now, Stiles is affecting every decision he makes.

If Stiles wanted - if Stiles had offered, Scott would give him everything.

Scott thinks maybe that’s been the truth for a long time, and it only took a drunken mistake for him to realise it. 

He’s still deep in thought when Stiles drops heavily into the seat opposite him, limbs landing with no grace.

“Danny’s flight okay?” Stiles says.

Scott frowns, takes another sip of his coffee. “I forgot to ask.”

“You really did sleep badly last night,” Stiles says. He’s eyeing Scott’s coffee cup, and Scott’s grip on it tightens.

“We’ve got a conference room booked for about half an hour,” Scott says. “Grab some food or something, it’s gonna be a busy day.”

Stiles nods sharply and rises to join the queue. Scott can’t help but admire his figure as he walks away.

The worst part of it is, Scott knows that if he wanted to kiss Stiles right now he could. It’s just that Stiles might not let him next week or next month. Scott doesn’t want it to end, not now, maybe not ever.

He doesn’t want the barriers between them to go back up.

Stiles returns with a coffee that smells like it’s more sugar than anything else, and a large cookie on a tray. “I’m having a panini. You want to split the cookie?”

“Sure,” Scott says.

He feels stiff and awkward around Stiles in a way he can’t explain. Their lunch yesterday had been... strange, but this was something else. 

“You’re being weird,” Stiles says, handing him half the cookie, broken off.

“Thanks,” Scott says. He’s not sure which he’s responding to.

The waitress interrupts them, putting a panini on the table between them, and Scott takes a bite of the cookie.

“I guess I gave you a lot to think about,” Stiles says quietly.

“Never thought quitting stripping would be a difficult decision to make,” Scott says. Stiles snorts, and then his face lapses into a fond smile.

“We’ve had a good run of it,” he says. 

“There were some bad parts,” Scott says, wrinkling his nose. 

Stiles makes a hum of agreement and takes a chunk out of his panini. Scott sips his coffee. It’s an easy silence, easier than Scott was expecting. 

Stiles swallows, and Scott watches his Adam’s apple bob. He opens his mouth, and then closes it.

Scott wonders what he was going to say.

“I don’t want to move to Davis on my own,” he says eventually.

“Yeah,” Scott says. He doesn’t really know what he’s agreeing to, he’s not sure he cares. He wants something else from Stiles, but he’s not sure he can put it into words. 

His phone buzzes on the table before he can think too much about it.

“Derek wants us at the conference room in 5,” Scott says. 

Stiles takes a scarily large bite of his panini and chews it quickly, his lips making smacking noises. It’d be disgusting if Scott wasn’t beyond used to it by now. 

They finish their drinks and make their way to the conference room, bumping into Cora and Lydia on the way. Cora’s hair is a little ruffled, and Scott doesn’t even try to hide his amusement at the flush of Lydia’s cheeks.

“Have a nice rest, then?” He asks.

Cora rolls her eyes and Lydia purses her lips.

Stiles and Danny exchange a hug outside the conference room, and then the five of them head inside, where Derek’s already waiting. Scott feels like they’re about to have a lesson, as if they’re back in middle school. 

Lydia sets to work on the sound system while the rest of them move the chairs and tables to the side of the room, creating a space for them to practise in. Scott doesn’t know how they’re going to figure out the lighting in this bland room designed for bored businessmen, but he doesn’t want to question Lydia on it. Through the other side of the wall they can hear a pulsing beat, and Scott’s reassured by the fact that they’re not the only people doing some last minute prep. 

Lydia hits play, and the speakers squeal just slightly before the music kicks in, the heavy bass so loud Scott’s sure they’re going to get complaints. 

The first run through, Danny just watches, tapping his foot to the beat as the three of them dance. Being close to Stiles makes Scott’s heart ache a little bit, but they practised this just the day before and even with all the questions about their future Scott can still appreciate the way his hips move.

They pause between the first and second practise, so Danny can give them some feedback, and then they do it again and again, Danny finding his place in the routine easily. They’re lucky that it works to his strengths, Scott thinks, since Danny’s usually a lot more involved in the choreography process.

Scott’s sweating profusely by the time they take a break, and an hour has passed without him really noticing. Danny brings up costumes, and they start talking about the options they have available, how they can adapt things. They wind up dumping their entire costume bag onto the floor of the conference room, and then they do the same with props.

The problem is, they’ve picked a dance which doesn’t really have a theme. They’ve done routines with military themes, and those are easy to costume. It’s the vague ones that are harder, and they want to make a splash this year.

Especially if it’s Stiles’ last convention - Scott’s, too, potentially. 

There’s some bickering about who is doing the sewing and it winds up being Derek and Stiles, side by side, needle and thread in hand. Scott’s just relieved they’ve finally made a decision, even if it means they won’t be able to use some of the costumes again. Lydia’s giving Cora a lecture on lighting, and Cora looks like she’s more interested in the shape Lydia’s mouth is making than what she’s actually saying.

Scott feels a little restless, a little useless. He’s dimly aware that Danny is frowning at him as he flops in one of the discarded chairs, limbs loose and exhausted. He takes a long drag from his water bottle, the cold water cooling him.

Stiles is right, Scott thinks. It’s time for him to stop stripping. 

“You okay?” Danny asks, crouching on the floor beside him. 

“I’m good,” he says. He doesn’t look at Danny, keeps watching Cora and Lydia bicker. 

“You’re hung up on him,” Danny says quietly.

“Dude,” Scott says. “We said we weren’t talking about it.”

“Fair enough,” Danny says, but he doesn’t stand up and he doesn’t walk away. 

“You think you’re gonna work here forever?” Scott asks.

“I like the money,” Danny says, easily. “It’s a nice bonus income.”

Scott frowns. He’d almost forgotten that Danny, too, had a real job and a real dream. 

“So you’re just going to stick around?”

“Sure,” he says. He pauses. “I don’t really think about it that much. I just don’t have anything better to do.”

“Than stay in Beacon Hills?”

Danny laughs. “My friends are here, my family is here. Why not stay?”

Scott’s eyes drift over to Stiles, head bowed over the pants he’s sewing, and he doesn’t say anything.

“So you’re thinking about moving on?” Danny says.

Scott turns his head sharply and blinks at him. For a moment, he’d thought Danny was talking about Stiles, about moving on from him and trying to forget the whole thing, and Scott’s not sure he’d ever be able to do that.

“Vet school has always been the dream,” Scott says quietly. 

He takes another swig of his water bottle, waits for Danny to speak. When he doesn’t, he dangles the water bottle limply from one hand and opens his mouth, trying to form the words in his head.

“Why does making decisions have to be so hard?” He says eventually, feeling the words come out as a sharp whine. It’s not what he wanted to say, not what he’s really struggling with at all, but it’s all he can string together for now.

“Decisions like whether to sleep with your best friend?” Danny says, nodding over at where Stiles is sat. Stiles looks up, for just a moment, and meets Scott’s eyes.

His cheeks grow warm without his permission. 

“It’s just road trip stuff,” Scott says softly. “It doesn’t count really.”

Danny laughs, a low amused noise. Scott’s grateful he’s quiet about it. He doesn’t want Stiles to hear what he’s saying, because they both know it’s all lies. 

“That wasn’t very convincing,” Danny says. He claps a hand on Scott’s shoulder and rises to stand. “I’m gonna go see if Lydia needs any help with the lighting rig.”

He takes a few steps away and then looks back at Scott, far too knowing for Scott’s liking. “You know where I am if you want to talk.”

Scott nods, pursing his lips, and clasps his bottle tight again. The grip gives him something to think about, something to stop him from staring at Stiles and wondering...

What the hell does their future hold? Where do they go from here?

His mom will be able to tell, he’s certain. She’s got an eye for Scott’s I-fucked-up look, and she’s especially good at catching it when it comes to Stiles. Her and the sheriff collaborate, Scott’s pretty sure, and he has no idea how they’re going to explain this one to either of them. 

He doesn’t know how to explain it to anyone, not even the people who were there.

Not even to Stiles. 

Before long, the costumes are semi-ready - Derek says something about letting them dry, which confuses Scott a little - and it’s time for them to start practising again.

When did being close to Stiles get this hard? They go for another hour, hammer the routine into their skulls until they can stop thinking about the dance and start thinking about the audience. Those are the people they’re there to impress, the tips they need to collect.

Money for moving on. The big vet school fund. At least, that’s what it was originally, and that’s why Stiles is here. 

Lydia’s a good emcee, at least, and they work well as a team. Scott has a feeling the club is going to flourish under her management.

He doesn’t want to think about whether or not he’ll be there to see it. 

It’s another hour before they take a break, and this time Scott isn’t the only one sweating. Maybe eating all that greasy food on the road wasn’t such a good idea. 

His water bottle needs refilling and he’s glad of the excuse to escape as he leaves the conference room and a dishevelled looking Stiles behind him. 

Even if he doesn’t move to Davis with Stiles he’s got to go back to Beacon Hills with him, keep working and living with him, if only for a few weeks. Scott needs to figure out what he wants before everything implodes, including his oldest, best friendship. 

He has to start the conversation but he doesn’t know how or where to start. What’s his opening line going to be? What if it fucks up the performance?

Scott drains his water bottle and refills it twice before he’s ready to return to the conference room. He decides on the walk back that he’s going to wait until after the performance. They need to be flawless, especially since Stiles needs all the tips he can get. Scott’s not about to screw that up for him. 

They squeeze in a formal dress rehearsal now that the costumes have dried (and Scott understands what that means when he sees the sheer quantity of glitter that’s been applied), and Scott thinks they might be ready. Lydia agrees, and she’s happy when she and Cora wave goodbye to the rest of them. Scott has a sneaking suspicion they might be having a date night.

They tidy up the conference room - glitter gets literally everywhere and Scott hates that it is a part of his job to wear it - and collectively agree to order room service and relax for the evening. Derek makes them promise to order salads, and Scott enjoys the wrinkle in Stiles’ nose as he agrees.

He enjoys everything about Stiles far too much. 

It’s not until they get back to their hotel room that he realizes Stiles might try to talk about their situation again, that all of the avoiding he was doing has just been blown out of the window. 

He flips on the tv and collapses on the bed he’s claimed for himself, flipping through channels aimlessly. The volume is high enough to discourage conversation, and he feigns concentration on the exercise.

This tv does have more channels than they get in their apartment. 

Stiles is saying something and Scott finds himself nodding and making murmurs of agreement. He knows Stiles won’t mind, not really, that he’s zoned out. They’ve got a routine, the two of them, when they’re not sharing beds and exchanging blowjobs. Living with Stiles is so easy, and the thought of having to find another roommate makes Scott feel a little queasy. 

Scott doesn’t return to the conversation until Stiles crumples up a ball of paper and throws it at his head. “Dude, where were you?” Stiles asks.

Scott shrugs and smiles weakly. 

“I was only asking if you wanted first shower,” Stiles says.

Scott blinks at Stiles. “I might be in there a while,” Scott says. “That was a hell of a workout.”

Stiles snorts softly. “We’re going to nail it tomorrow, though.”

“I hope so,” Scott says. “We’re not going to get another chance.”

Another ball of crumpled paper hits Scott’s stomach. “Go shower, you stink. I’ll order room service.”

Scott eyes him. “You could do that.”

Stiles frowns, wrinkles his nose. “Or...?”

It takes Scott a moment to work up the courage, somehow. Because this doesn’t feel impulsive, this feels more certain, like there’s weight to it.

“You could join me in the shower and we could get room service afterwards,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

The corner of Stiles’ mouth quirks up in that smile that Scott knows so well. “Yeah, that definitely sounds like a better idea.”

Scott slides off the bed and tugs off his shorts, dropping his pants and heading for the bathroom, not waiting for Stiles to catch up. He doesn’t make it to the door before arms catch him around his waist and he can feel lips pressing at his nape.

“You stink,” Stiles says, and then he bites Scott’s neck softly, until Scott gasps.

“No hickeys,” he tells Stiles.

“Lydia takes all the fun out of it,” Stiles says, whining. His hands are already dipping below the waistband of Scott’s boxers, brushing the crest of his hips and plunging lower. Scott thinks his legs might give way as he feels Stiles give a breathy laugh against his neck.

“Keep walking,” he says softly, and Scott obeys, though the two of them moving together is clumsy. The tiles are cool on his bare feet, a sharp contrast to the heat of Stiles against his back. 

They don’t bother to shut the door of the bathroom behind them, and Scott finds himself with his back pressed against the sink and all of Stiles’... everything in his arms. His back arches as Stiles grinds their crotches together, and he feels Stiles’ wet lips against his neck, his tongue licking a stripe up to his jaw. A puff of air over his lips and he thinks his legs might turn to jelly, that he might fall to the floor if he weren’t leaning against the sink.

The cool ceramic of the basin is the only thing keeping him grounded, helping him keep it together. His dick is fully hard now, pressed against Stiles’ thigh, and he leans forward and catches Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth.

“Shower,” he gasps out. 

Stiles nods mutely, stepping back and pulling Scott with him. The two of them almost stumble and fall, and one of those little bottles of free body wash hits the floor.

Stiles huffs a laugh and Scott suddenly feels tired right down to his bones. It’s hard to focus on the exhaustion when Stiles’ hands are suddenly on his cock again, tugging his boxers down until Scott can kick them aside. Scott tugs at Stiles’ waistband until his sweats drop to the floor too, and Stiles tugs his t-shirt over his head.

Scott will never get used to how good Stiles looks when he’s shirtless.

He reaches over Stiles’ shoulder to turn the shower on, and Stiles latches on to his neck.

“Dude,” Scott says. “No hickeys.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but lifts his chin to kiss Scott softly on the lip. “After the show,” he says, his voice low. “After the show, I’m going to mark you all over.”

Scott feels his cock twitch. “Fuck,” he says, and it comes out all guttural and he’s not sure he’s ever heard his voice sound like that before.

“I intend to,” Stiles says, his filthy grin only ruined by his obvious delight at the pun. 

Scott snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”

Stiles huffs a laugh into his shoulder and it’s almost a sweet moment, even though their skin is sticky from sweat and heat is pooling in Scott’s crotch. He gives Stiles one last kiss, pressing him against the edge of the bath, and then holds his shoulder as he climbs into the shower. The water is almost too hot against his skin and he just stands there for a moment, waiting. 

It isn’t long before he feels the weight of Stiles’ body against his back, lips pressing at his nape again. “You’re gorgeous,” Stiles says, his voice husky, and Scott thinks his legs might buckle.

Scott almost slips as he turns in the shower to face Stiles. He holds onto Stiles’ forearms and he doesn’t say anything, just meets his eyes. His hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, and he can feel drops of water collecting on his eyelashes.

Stiles shuffles forward to press his forehead into Scott’s wet shoulder and suddenly there’s no space between them at all. It feels tender, and Scott wraps his arms around Stiles’ back.

“You’re my best friend,” Scott says, barely audible over the sound of the shower. He focuses on a mole on Stiles’ shoulder blade, watches the water flow over it. 

Stiles looks up. “Duh,” he says softly.

Scott doesn’t know why there’s so much weight in the pit of his stomach. He nearly opens his mouth and starts spilling out words about how Davis is too far away and he’s not sure he’s ever going to want to stop kissing Stiles, not even after they get back to Beacon Hills. He’s not going to forget the feeling of Stiles’ skin against his, of mouths on cocks, or seeing the look in Stiles’ eye when he comes.

They’re close enough together that Scott can feel Stiles’ heart beating against his chest, and the sound of the water around them seems to fade to nothing as Scott presses their lips together again and feels Stiles’ heart speed up. This time, it’s Stiles who catches Scott’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Scott thinks he feels his heart catch along with it. 

He presses their foreheads together, feeling the tug of Stiles’ teeth on his lip, and he thinks about love and what the hell they’re doing showering together in Florida when their real life is in separate bedrooms on the other side of the country. 

It takes him by surprise when he feels the friction of Stiles’ hand on his cock, and his knees feel shaky all of a sudden, like they can’t be trusted to hold him upright. 

“Y’good?” Stiles says, his words slurring together.

Scott can’t find it in himself to do anything more than grunt affirmatively. He wraps his hand around Stiles’ and slides their cocks together. Stiles isn’t as hard as Scott is, but the heat between them feels just right.

Scott groans loudly as Stiles tightens his grip just slightly, and it echoes around the bathroom. Stiles laughs and mumbles something that sounds like a compliment. 

Scott presses their lips together again and the heat of the kiss seems to fill his whole head. All he can feel is the heat flushing his body and the water pelting his back. All he can feel is Stiles giving him exactly the friction he needs. His eyes drift closed and he doesn’t know how much time passes before he opens them again. 

His free hand drifts downward, passing over Stiles’ powerful back muscles and reaching the smooth skin of his ass. He squeezes it just lightly, and a smile appears on Stiles’ lips. Scott grins at the sight of it, then lets out another moan as Stiles thumbs the head of his cock in retaliation.

It’s almost instinctive, the way his fingers wander to the cleft of Stiles’ ass. Scott’s certainly not capable of much coherent thought right now. He presses his finger gently against Stiles’ anus and Stiles makes a guttural sound Scott’s never heard before. He wants to hear it again and again, wants it to get loud enough to fill the whole bathroom. 

He presses down again, harder. He thinks that he’d like to maybe get on his knees and rim Stiles, taste his everything. It’s that thought, and Stiles’ free hand fondling his ball sack that sends him over the edge. His vision goes white and suddenly the water of the shower is too hot. Touching Stiles makes his skin feel like it’s on fire and he’s overwhelmed by it. The pleasure filling every inch of him is relentless and all he wants is for Stiles to feel the same way.

His finger slips into Stiles’ entrance, more instinct than anything else, and Stiles gasps out loud, the sound filling the bathroom. Stiles’ hips jerk against Scott’s, and Scott feels the warmth of his come on his belly.

“You make the best sounds,” he says, and Stiles laughs weakly. He looks like he might fall over. 

Scott kisses him again, but it’s gentler, and they’re both weak from the heady rush of the orgasm. 

“Come to Davis with me,” Stiles says, against his lips. 

Scott shuts his eyes and feels the weight of Stiles’ forehead against his.

“Let me think about it,” he says, hating the words as they spill out of his mouth.

Stiles doesn’t say anything, but Scott can feel the heat of his breath against his lips.

“We should clean up,” Scott says eventually. 

Stiles lifts his head. “Yeah,” he says, pulling a face.

They joke and tease and touch each other a little as they shower, but something isn’t right. Scott thinks he might feel actual physical pain at the sight of Stiles’ fake smile.

“I’ll order room service,” Stiles says, and leaves Scott alone in the shower. He’s alone with his thoughts finally, and he finds all he wants is to escape them. He focuses on the luxury shampoo the hotel has provided, and the super soft luxury towels. Scott doesn’t think he’s seen towels this white in years.

He wraps the towel around his waist and exits the bathroom just as room service enter. He doesn’t bother with covering himself more, though the server’s cheeks flush a little pink at the sight of him.

He wonders if she’s aware that the hotel is hosting a stripping convention.

Stiles signs his name on the bill and dismisses her, and settles down on the bed.

“I hope you tipped her,” Scott says.

Stiles smirks. “I think the view was enough of a tip, don’t you?”

Stiles is wearing one of the cosy looking dressing gowns, and his hair is still damp. Scott wonders if the server realised they showered together. He wonders if she cares.

Scott settles down to eat at the table, and Stiles picks up his plate and settles with it cross-legged on his bed. He’s picking up leaves with his fingers to eat them, and Scott wrinkles his nose with disgust, trying not to think about the sudden distance between them.

He doesn’t even taste the salad and it’s almost a surprise to him when his plate is clear.

“I’m still hungry,” he says. He kicks open his suitcase and picks out some boxers, a t-shirt, some sweats. He feels too vulnerable being nearly naked around Stiles right now, even though their room is the largest space the two of them have shared in days. 

“Me too,” Stiles says. He’s flicking through the room service menu. “Think Derek will hate us if we get dessert?”

“I’m more worried about Lydia,” Scott says. He picks up the stack of magazines the hotel provided them with and spreads them out on his bed, trying to decide which one to read.

“We could watch a movie,” Stiles says. “You can rent them from the hotel.”

“Yeah?” Scott says vaguely, pretending he’s immersed in GQ. 

Stiles makes a noise that Scott can’t quite interpret, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to look up. They just had sex, it shouldn’t be this awkward. Stiles shouldn’t be so far away.

“Lydia says we’re good for dessert,” Stiles says. “I’m getting chocolate fondant. You want the menu?”

Scott nods and stands, walking over so that Stiles can pass it to him. “Thanks,” he says.

He doesn’t know how long he stares at the first page of the menu before Stiles clears his throat. He doesn’t read a single word. He flicks through to the back, finds the desserts.

“Cheesecake,” he says. 

Stiles picks up the phone and orders, talking easily with the person on the other end of the line. Scott picks up his plate and stacks it with the other on the tray the server left behind, and Stiles nods his thanks.

“I like you tidying up after me,” Stiles says, stretching on the bed. 

“You’re just lazy,” Scott points out. Stiles grins. 

“Always,” he says. He pats the bed beside him, inviting Scott to sit. He almost looks nervous, if Scott didn’t know what nervous looked like on Stiles. There’s something about his face that Scott can’t interpret, anyway.

Scott lies down beside him. He tells himself it’s only until the server comes with their dessert. He rests his head on Stiles’ shoulder, feels the warmth of Stiles’ arm around him, and he thinks about how they could do this all the time.

He splays his arm across Stiles’ chest, feels the rise and fall of it with every breath. He’s never felt this peaceful, lying next to Stiles. Stiles is usually all motion, he’s dancing or he’s gesturing or he just won’t sit still. This feels so different Scott almost can’t put words to it.

The press of his Stiles’ lips on his forehead brings him back to reality. 

He can feel the words on his lips, in danger of spilling out. He can taste them on his tongue. 

He’s saved by the room service knocking on the door, and he rolls off the bed to open the door for the server. It’s the same one as before and he gives her a polite smile. 

“Just put them by the bed,” Stiles calls from the bed, and Scott can feel his cheeks pink. He doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed, but Stiles casually referring to it as ‘the bed’, as if it’s the only one in the room. 

He doesn’t know why he thought they would sleep in separate beds tonight. The convention has made him tense, has made things between them strange. The convention and the move to Davis and the last five days has all built up to something that Scott’s a little terrified of. 

The server leaves and the room feels at once too big and too small. Scott settles cross-legged on the bed and eats his cheesecake. Stiles’ hand settles around his waist again, eating his fondant with his other hand, and Scott wanders if this could be their future.

Minus the room service, because they’re not going to be rich.

“This cheesecake is really good,” Scott says. Stiles makes an appreciative groan, and Scott smiles down at him.

“You should try this,” Stiles says, holding out a forkful of fondant. Scott smiles down at him and dips his chin to accept the bite. Scott thinks this might be the cutest thing he’s ever done. 

Scott groans loudly when the taste hits his tongue.

“You have got to stop making those noises,” Stiles says, grinning at him. 

Scott’s cheeks heat. “You are just as bad as me.”

“I bet we get complaints tomorrow night,” Stiles says, smiling in a way that Scott can only describe as predatory.

“Have you got plans tomorrow night?” Scott asks.

“We won’t have rules about bruises,” Stiles says. Scott swallows.

“Do you want some cheesecake?” 

Stiles laughs.

“I’ll never say no to cheesecake,” Stiles says. “But I’m disappointed you don’t want to hear about my plans for your body.”

“Maybe I like surprises,” Scott says. He copies Stiles, scoops a bite of cheesecake onto his fork and stretches it over to Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ lips wrap around the fork in a way Scott can only describe as enticing. 

Stiles raises his eyebrows and starts laughing. When he eventually calms enough to swallow, he does so slowly, savouring the taste of the food.

“You’re right, it is good cheesecake,” he says, and then he collapses into giggles again. Scott rolls his eyes and finishes his plate, putting it on the bedside table. 

“You’re an idiot,” Scott says. His voice sounds so fond, he’s almost annoyed with himself.

“It reminded you of something, didn’t it?” Stiles asks, his voice teasing. He’s finished the chocolate now and is lying back, smirking up at Scott. “My lips around your dick.”

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?” Scott asks.

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Probably not.”

Scott kisses him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense! Exams happened and I moved house and I've had some other projects that were more urgent!
> 
> No excuse, I know. I hope this chapter was worth it though!
> 
> Also, we finally got Danny! Love Danny! What a chill dude! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [rocketwolvs](http://rocketwolvs.tumblr.com) and hopefully since it's the summer holidays now the next chapter of this will materialise sooner. Feel free to come nag in my ask box if I'm being a disaster again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm hopefully gonna post a chapter a month or so? because they're pretty long and that'll give me a chance to stay ahead of it, and also I'm about to start university so everything I'm saying right now may be a total lie.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! I'm [argentwolvs](http://argentwolvs.tumblr.com)!


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